Under Cover of Night
by polotiz
Summary: It is often in the middle of the night... when we find ourselves feeling most vulnerable. Set Pre S01
1. Chapter 1

**Under Cover of Night**

**Rating: **T, to be safe. It's a little dark.

**Pairing: **Rizzles

**Disclaimer:** Do not own them. Wish I did. Really. Will trade for body parts.

**A/N:** This started off as a bit of a tumblr experiment, short little things to keep me writing through epic writers block...until I realised it was a pain in the butt to trawl through old blogs to find other chapters so, hope it is okay I decided to compile it all in here.

AU to books I am sure, I always wanted to explore a perspective of how the first 'interaction' of J/M happened, and how it evolved. So... if you're here, thanks for reading, really. Yes, I'm talking to you. I can't even begin to explain what it means.

T

* * *

Under Cover of Night - Part 1: The Night

* * *

"Hi…"

A raspy voice, edgy and familiar carves the still air of her bedroom, settling into her ear.

Maura presses the phone closer to her cheek, glancing at the clock beside her bed. Blinking the sleep from her eyes she watches the red LEDs swim across her vision into numbers oriented into a time… 1:37am.

"Hello." She smiles into the phone. "It is nice to hear from you."

Five nights along and it has become a strange ritual – one that neither woman speaks about or indeed acknowledges, outside the space of these hours. In fact, it has only been by chance their numbers were exchanged at all – courtesy of a last-minute crime scene earlier in the week and a flustered detective trying to locate her phone to get hold of her partner.

_"__Would you like me to dial it?."_

It was wedged between the console and the passenger's seat. The detective's gloved hands were too thick to fit into the space.

She wouldn't remove the gloves.

So Maura retrieved the phone instead. And they spoke for the first time, that night.

A clumsy start, involving stuttered thanks for the assistance with the phone, but somehow tripped over awkwardness into interest and by the end of the conversation Maura knew the Red Sox, and the rules of basketball, and the detective heard about the anthropological evolution of competitive sport.

….And the crime scene from that day – with all its horrors – had faded, just a fraction, away from them both.

…Five nights ago.

"..Did- did I wake you?" Crackles through static, drawing Maura's mind to the present.

She ponders the question, the option of answering truthfully or for deflecting to something different ever-present in her mind. She swipes a hand over her forehead and tucks errant strands of hair behind her ears.

"I'm sorry if I-" The voice on the other end trails off. She realises she hasn't answered.

She responds swiftly.

"It's no trouble." She says, "-You are welcome to call."

It is the truth, despite the hour. Only five nights and these calls have settled as a routine in Maura's life – dissolving into it now – a comfort. An evolving constant. One month ago nobody would be calling her, not in this way. Not for anything.

Not that she can define what _this _is, precisely. By day their relationship is… simple. Professional. Two colleagues – two women – thrust together in positions of authority in a male dominated workplace. They work together, but they work equally with many other people as well.

Of course, Maura knew of her. There wasn't a person who worked within a mile of the BPD who didn't – who didn't know what she had endured, what she had fought against, just to return. She had only been back at work a month, after five away on leave. On medical leave.

There had been no particular reason for them to connect, beyond trying to find her phone, five days ago …

"I read there was… a meteorite.. shower.. tonight." The words trip over themselves slightly.

She stretches, pulling at the edging of her sheets with pinched fingers, settling herself in, allowing the smile to linger on her lips – indulgently.

"The Perseid Meteor shower – yes-" She answers, pressing her head further down into her pillow, preparing to happily forgo the next hour to discuss the detail, and any other details the woman on the other end of the line sees fit to . "I saw it." She says, then corrects herself. "-Part of it. The cloud cover made it difficult."

"Cloud cover?" The voice sounds genuinely perplexed. "I thought… you of all people would have one of those….telescopes that can.. see through that-"

The words 'of' and 'those, 'see' and 'through', blend together in a barely perceptible slur. Maura's fingers pause on the edge of her night shirt.

She is tired.

In their third conversation, Maura learned that the detective could simply and suddenly be hit with a bone-crushing weariness, after surviving on four hours sleep a night for days– her body would out of nowhere decide that then, there and then was when it would call surrender.

"Jane?" She asks gently, "Are… you alright?"

"Yeah.." The thickness of fatigue now plainly evident in her voice. "We found him."


	2. Chapter 2

Under Cover of Night - Part 2: What is Heavy

* * *

_"Jane?"_

_"Jane… Open the door."_

* * *

The day had started with a simple shooting.

Maura studies her reflection in the mirror – at the shadows gathered under her eyes and loose wisps of hair jostled free of a pony tail tied fourteen hours and five bodies earlier.

It had started with a simple shooting…

…and had been followed up by a five car pileup with pedestrian involvement.

Tension had wound its way across her shoulders, tendrils now slipping up her neck and gripping the back of her skull like angry fingers, and as if attempting to prise them from her skin her own ghost across the same space, pressing down, kneading carefully, wincing as the action only shoots pain further up into the side of her head, behind her left ear.

In her profession, Dr Isles has become well aware of the varying ways a human being could meet their end. But if she were honest with herself, major road trauma was close to the worst. Metal was always capable of beating and twisting bodies into versions of themselves almost unrecognisable. Especially children.

And there had been three, today.

Her eyes dart to her phone, and she catches herself, simultaneously perplexed at the action. Her screen saver stares back at her – the original iPhone version – she has never seen the point of anything different.

So what had she been expecting?

She sees the furrow of her brow in the reflection of the mirror and she turns away, moistening the small towel under the tap, pressing it to her face and scrubbing once at the skin.

They haven't spoken in eleven days, since the night of the meteor shower. On a sample of 16 days, their conversations have gone from statistically probable to living on the fringe of one standard deviation. Only ninety four more days, she quietly muses to herself, and it will be two.. and suddenly those first five conversations become statistically insignificant.

Maura pauses, the towel still resting across her face as she realises with the clarity of daylight, that it bothers her.

And _that _in itself bothers her further, which in turn manifests as a strange form of morbid curiosity. It is very _unlike_ her, to feel loss at the absence of such a personal form of human interaction. Not after all these years.

With a weary sigh, she drops the towel into the sink, wipes the spots of remnant makeup from the porcelain and braces her hands against the side, bending her neck left and right, attempting to resolve the ever-present knots.

The sound of the phone vibrating makes her flinch, and her neck instantly flares so tightly she has only the option of reaching for it and bringing it to her ear, hoping somewhere along the way she swiped the screen to answer.

"Dr Isles." She answers, willing the strain from her voice. Her eyes fixate on the woman in the mirror.

"…Hi."

Like an absent observer, she watches her own face change – watches as it dissolves from discomfort to surprise to… the tiny relieved smile that appears on her face. She glares at it, and in a moment it is gone.

"Detective." She answers, trying to pretend the familiar raspy sounds of the woman's voice hadn't just settled into her ear.

"Did I- interrupt something?"

The doctor pauses for a moment, staring into the hazel eyes across from her, and frowns. "No." She answers, finally. "I was just, washing up."

"You sound hesitant." The voice lingers on the last syllable, as if it were a confession the woman was not willing to make, or perhaps an answer she was not willing to hear.

"I-" Maura's mouth twitches sideways in an attempt at deference she knows her body simply will not accept. Her eyes drop to the bathroom vanity, and she finds them closing of their own accord. "-I was not expecting to hear from you again."

There is a long pause on the other end of the phone. "I was not expecting to call."

"Of course." Maura answers, aware of a tiny stab of hurt in her abdomen. She pushes it away. Of course, her mind echoes. This woman is professional. Of course, they both are. Of _course_… there would be a reason for her to phone. "Is… there something I can do for you, detective?" She asks. "Were there results you were waiting on? I do admit I was quite – occupied today with a-"

"No, wait-"

Maura pauses mid-sentence, mouth still open in the frame of what she had intended to say.

"Don't take what I said the wrong way." And it occurs to the medical examiner, that even uncertain, Detective Jane Rizzoli is confident. She speaks with conviction. "I just- It was unusual for me, you know?" the distinct pause makes Maura wonder if she is supposed to speak, until the voice continues. "I don't usually phone people… so late."

There is something in the way the woman says it, that suggests to Maura those last words are an unnecessary qualifier.

"I haven't been home long." She says it to dispel them, make them immaterial, against the first.

"I know." This confuses her. Maura frowns against the handset. Her free hand slowly begins to apply her night time moisturiser to skin exposed to nothing but recycled air and a tightly controlled lack of humidity. "I…heard about the accident today. I-" Maura's fingers linger on a smudge of cream as she waits for the detective to finish. "-I wanted to make sure, everything went okay."

She doesn't know what to say. She watches her hand in the mirror, paused over the smearing of moisturiser, as if in some form of fearful stasis. She is at war with herself – how to answer, _whether _to answer.

"Was there something you-"

"Maura." The sound of her name causes her to flinch, her fingers press against her cheek. Moisturiser oozes out from between them, and she watches it in the mirror with curious discomfort. The fingers of her other hand tighten around the handset. "I wanted… to see if you were alright."

"It…" Why is she answering? Maura's mind flings the standard deviation in front of her. 64% of the time, they have not spoken. Why would she- "It has been a long day." Her voice thins out, an effort to contain the crack of fatigue inside it. "A long night."

A soft sigh winds its way through the phone, directly into her ear. It strikes at the tension in her neck

"Sometimes the night is more bearable when it's filled with something."

-and for a moment, Maura knows what it might feel like to be relaxed


	3. Chapter 3

Under Cover of Night - Part 3: Carry On

* * *

_'Don't hang up.'_

_'Jane please… don't – please, stay on the phone.'_

* * *

Maura realises, she doesn't know what to do.

Hands on her hips, she stops a safe six feet from the desk ahead of her, eyes adjusting to the single lamp spilling light over the figure slumped over the wooden surface, clearly asleep.

It unnerves her; She, who in this space is usually so confident, so concise with actions and words they may have been pulled directly out of a criminal forensics textbook. Right down to the professional distance required for law enforcement and medical examiners.

Because this distance… _this _distance has been blurred now.

She bites her lip. An old habit, one she had been fighting since the moment her mother had chastised her at the spelling bee when she was eight years old. _Don't let people see your weaknesses_, she had said. _Vulnerability is not becoming._

Maura can see the transcript of an interrogation, somewhere underneath the splay of dark hair. The detective's hands have slid over the interrogation notes that now act as a pillow for her head, pressed up against her left forearm.

The writing on them is shaky, as if the Detective's hand was no longer able to confidently hold her pen.

Five days ago, a new case arrived. Complex, multi-faceted; requiring the experience and perspective of both narcotics and homicide… Of course, both teams Detective Rizzoli had been part of. Both teams she was connected to. Both teams, who, whether they intended to or not, as an outsider Maura could see looked to Rizzoli as not only the bridge between, but the bridge to the solution.

It was easy for the Medical Examiner to tell, simply from the number of times she facilitated autopsies and DNA analyses, plus one gruesome exhumation, all requested by different individuals, all with the same instruction;

Give the results to Detective Rizzoli.

Detective Rizzoli is all over it.

Detective Rizzoli wants to know…

Detective…

"Rizzoli!" The sound of the name makes Maura jump, but no more so than the figure in front of her.

Fists clench, a breath hisses and hair flings back, dark tendrils flicking across her face to land haphazardly at her shoulders. Eyes blink into focus, and Maura notices for the first time, how truly _black_ they are. Black like midnight, close enough to drag her in to both the gaze and the world behind it.

Until they fix on her, and it is all she can do to regulate her breathing.

_Don't let people see your weaknesses_…

"Rizzoli what the hell-" The voice sounds from behind her again, and Dr Isles remembers for the first time, there was someone privy to their space long before the analysis began. "-oh, I'm sorry precious…" The word sounds like an old piece of chewing gum. Maura finds herself wondering if a spectrum analysis of it might reveal real cyanide, it is that venomous. "-did I wake you?"

Dark eyes linger on the doctor's face, and she thinks she catches a flash of… something, before steel shutters close across them and she turns to her right. "Fuck you, Crowe."

In the shadow cast over her left shoulder Dr Isles can make out the profile of the new detective – a thoroughly unpleasant figure – new to the homicide division yet with an awful combination of disgraceful personality and apparent pull with… someone… that got him there in the first place.

"Not now." He says, and Maura doesn't need to turn to know there is a smirk on his face. "Maybe later though…"

She can see the detective is still limited by her newly awakened state. She can see the haphazard writing as clearly as day – and one glance over her shoulder reveals the way Crowe's gaze is lingering on the lettering as if it is something for him to devour.

She doesn't do this. She _never _does this…

Maura steps forward.

"Is that what you needed me to look into, detective-" She says, reaching for the paper and pulling it towards her, ignoring the flash of confusion on the other woman's face. She tucks it carefully against her body, blank side out, tilting her head to the side to hide the tingling creeping up her neck. "Thank you."

Spinning around she faces Crowe fully now, and narrows her eyes. "Unless the detective here has a reason to unnecessarily delay the investigation…."

Her chest begins to burn. She calculates she has all of thirty seconds.

Fortunately, it takes him only five to capitulate.

"Doctor Isles, I apologise-" He says, stepping to the side, clearing a path for her to leave… making no move to do so himself.

And she wants to stay… she wants to stay, but circumstance and experience have taught her differently.

So she keeps walking, resisting the urge to tear at the skin of her neck until she is safely out of sight and on the way to her car, where she presses the back of her head against the seat, closes her eyes and breathes methodically, carefully in through her nose, out through pursed lips, willing the rage from body.

In–two-three

Out-two-three…

The fire crawling towards her cheeks finally begins to recede, and Maura braces herself against her steering wheel with one hand, realising only then the note paper is still clutched to her stomach with her left.

She pulls it away from her body, daring herself to look at it, challenging her conscience to take in the words against the pale white, barely holding the lines.

_'Markets'_

_'Sunday 7am'_

_'Jonas O'Leary'_

These words are careful, clipped. Blocked. Like someone who has been trained to write within set dimensions – it reminds Maura of an engineer's drafting script. Her eyes scroll downward.

_'Intrasection Transport'_

_'Mearsk'_

_'Ariel Leith, 10am 11__th__ October, wharf 4'_

The doctor frowns. The 11th October is only two days away – a Saturday. While Jonas O'Leary is a name she is more than aware of - having run several tests against his prison records - Ariel Leith is unfamiliar to her, and Maura finds it more than a little unnerving.

_'Basement wharf 4'_

_'Basement' _

Her grip tightens on the steering wheel. The writing has changed – it has become… untidier, shakier; less controlled.

_'Basement' _ the word crawls under the line, into the second.

But it is what follows that makes Maura's breath catch in her throat, her key twisting jerkily in the ignition, sparking her Prius to life.

In hindsight, the doctor doesn't remember much of the drive home at all… Just the word.

The name.

_'Hoyt'_

How it screams at her from the page, angry and disturbed like the lettering.

_'Hoyt'_

_'Hoyt'_


	4. Chapter 4

Under Cover of Night - Part 4: From Here

* * *

_"__Where is your gun, Jane?"_

_"...Jane? Where is it?"_

* * *

It is just past midnight.

She is aware of the sound created by the clicking of her heels against the floor's surface, as she moves through the corridors with practiced ease, the consistency of the tempo edging out the heaviness that has settled in her stomach. The doctor knows the familiar taint in her lungs; the scent of disinfectant and poorly filtered air. After all, she spent enough time within walls like these – very early on in her career – becoming accustomed to the reality of life and death.

Ahead of her an elevator door opens, and she is as quietly grateful that the single occupant leaves as she is nobody follows her inside. Her fingers find the sixth floor button as her other hand grips the side rail against the wall, and as the doors slide closed with a metallic whir, Maura closes her eyes.

_~.~.~_

_"__Dr Isles"_

_"__Doctor I'm down at the docks, we have a body – male, late thirties. Gunshot wound and a-_

_'__**shit**__…__we need a bus here! Officer down!'_

_-wait, Dr Isles there's been-_

_'__**fuck**__…__Rizzoli? Officer down! Get someone here __**now**__!'_

_Doctor I have to-"_

_"__I'm on my way."_

~.~.~

Ariel Leith.

The name sends a chill down her spine.

Like the seven hours of research she had completed between dusk and dawn two nights ago would have yielded something more, had she looked just that little bit further.

Like Detective Rizzoli might have chosen a different strategy had she known… had they known.

The elevator stops two floors before hers, and Maura opens her eyes in time to see a dishevelled looking man in scrubs step inside. He nods once in her direction, the wisps of curly red hair sticking out from his surgical cap indicative of the length of time he's had it on. He presses the floor above hers, quickly followed by the 'door close' button, then leans against the far wall and passes a weary hand over his face with a sigh.

Maura glances at her watch.

She knows how he feels - she herself has only been out of scrubs for forty five minutes. Long enough to change, eat a small sandwich, and make her way…

Here.

_~.~.~_

_'__Hi Jane,_

_I noted the name on your list and took the liberty of contacting an associate of mine. He has information you may find useful and asked me to pass on his details to you. Please find them enclosed._

_I hope it offers some assistance._

_Regards,_

_Maura'_

~.~.~

The elevator reaches her floor, opening to the limited lighting of the late shift and Maura steps out, locking eyes with the doctor one more time on her way. She watches him sag further against the wall as the doors close, wondering idly if she had read correctly a physical response to the relief of being alone.

She feels her phone vibrate in her blazer pocket and she pulls it out, swiping her hand across the screen

_'__It was really great to see you today. Next time in better circumstances. My treat. LJ.'_

She purses her lips and sighs, slipping the phone back into her pocket as she begins to make her way down the corridor.

The 'Associate'.

His name is Det. Lucas James, from the organised crime division… A person Maura had made a point of avoiding, following a slightly-better-than-average sexual encounter four months ago, that had taken several weeks to convince him would not be repeated in any permanent fashion.

But spending a night unearthing decades of Leith enforcers within the Irish mob, how else was she supposed to help? Who else was she supposed to contact?

Surely, a dinner next Friday night was a small price to pay for Detective Rizzoli's safety.

Except in the end….it hadn't even done that.

_~.~.~_

_"__She went in without backup. She's damn lucky we were behind her."_

_"__You would think, after everything she of all people would have learned…."_

~.~.~

The doctor is already standing in the dimly-lit doorway before she even realises she has stopped. At this height there is little illumination offered by the small window, so the room's shadows and shapes are formed instead by the soft lamp tucked beside two IV poles, their structures casting the faintest pattern over the hospital bed and the person in it.

Even in the low light, Maura can see the outline of a bandage wrapped tightly around her head, the white almost bright against her dark hair. Her face is tilted away, so as to not put pressure on the laceration the doctor knows lies across the left side of her skull.

A silent heart monitor flashes in the far corner of the room, slow and steady beats rhythmically pulsing across the screen.

Alive.

Maura draws in a full breath, closing her eyes at the feel of air expanding her lungs, the pressure and tension finally uncoiling from her chest. Her fingertips find the middle hinge of the open door and she rests them there, quietly.

"She's unlikely to wake up, tonight."

The voice startles her at first, and Maura drops her hand, looking over her shoulder to see a young nurse - no older than twenty five - smiling softly at her. She is holding a small file in her hand, and Maura recognises the medical lettering along its edge as Jane's.

"Common for a lateral cranial injury." She says, turning away from the entrance and facing the younger woman. "Obviously not a skull fracture or she would be in critical care." Maura can tell by the flash of surprise that crosses the nurse's features, that her response is unexpected. "I am a doctor." She says simply, and glances at the file in the nurse's hand, then back up again, her eyebrows knitting together. "- contusion?"

The nurse appears to take a moment to compose herself, then shakes her head.

"…nothing significant showed up on the scan." She says. "It is more likely to be a severe concussion. But the doctors are still monitoring."

Maura nods, and runs her right hand down the sleeve of her opposite arm, feeling the texture of the fabric under her fingertips. It is strangely grounding.

"I see." She says, eyes falling back to the figure in the bed.

There is a notable silence, and when the nurse speaks again, her voice has changed.

"You can go in, if you like, Doctor."

Maura freezes.

And it occurs to her, for the first time, that she doesn't know _why _she came here. It was hardly the first time an officer has been injured in the line of duty, and in truth she had known half way to the hospital that the injuries were not life-threatening.

Why did she come?

Her fingers move over the cuff of her blazer and slide underneath, brushing against her opposite forearm as she curls the material over into her half-fist. Her eyes find the heart monitor again, following the pattern of beats as they traverse the screen, disappear off to the right in time for a new one to lead in from the left.

She shakes her head.

"No, it is not necessary." She says, "We are only colleagues. We work together." Yet even as she says them the words feel strangely foreign on her lips, like they are a lie, without there being a premise of truth to ground them.

It unnerves her.

"Still, you came all this way…" The nurse trails off, and Maura catches a hint of knowing in the younger voice that makes her shift uncomfortably in her heels, feeling them slip gently against the linoleum floor.

"I was just passing by-" She starts, finding a thread at the cuff hem and pulling on it absently. "I just- I thought I might…"

There is the slightest pressure of touch as a hand closes over her arm, and the Doctor feels it through her blazer, directly to her fingers and the forearm that lies beneath those.

"Work colleagues can be friends too."

* * *

A/N: Oh wow - to everyone who has jumped on board this thing, thank you so much for following and reading and... just... thanks. Hope I can keep keeping you interested. Muses have been very slow going these last couple of weeks... which is frustrating... I'm considering couples therapy to get them to talk to me again :)


	5. Chapter 5

Under Cover of Night: Part 5 - It's not...

* * *

_'Listen for me, Jane - I'm here.'_

_'Jane?'_

_'Please...'_

* * *

"I am lucky to have survived, Maura."

It is well past dinner time, and Maura holds the receiver against her ear, watching as the 2011 Pinot Noir curls gently around the curve of her wine glass before finally settling. She places the bottle back down and takes a ritualistic moment to read the vintner's description of his vintage: black cherry, currant, with a hint of stonefruit.

"I mean… seriously, there was a point where I thought I would never make it out-"

There is a scuffle of plastic and paper and the unmistakeable sound of fumbling keys. The sound of bodyweight forcing a door inward. The exhale of relief that can only come from finally being home.

Taking a careful first sip, Maura closes her eyes and inhales softly.

_Yes._ She thinks. _Perfect._

It has been two weeks since the night at the hospital. In the end, the doctor had never gone inside the room; her mind still processing words of the young nurse who – frankly – should not have known better than her.

Even so, it was well into the early morning before she had left the doorway... And had anyone asked her to, she could still describe the scene to the most intricate detail; every nuance, every treatment... every coming and going of the night staff. Right down to the detective's average heart rate.

"Jane, I am sure it was not as bad as you make it sound."

There is an incredulous scoff, the shuffle of more plastic and sound of a takeaway container popping open.

"Have you _met _my mother, Maura?" The indignation in the voice, combined with that jovial, confident lilt makes Maura smile. "It would have been easier to escape from Alcatraz."

She chuckles out loud then, and twirls her wine glass casually against the marble surface of her kitchen island.

Angela Rizzoli was certainly not unknown to the BPD, nor anyone in a four mile circumference of it. Loud, brash and entirely too loving for her children's tastes, her presence in the café certainly added an element of liveliness and colour to the precinct. But if one of her children was hurt in the line of duty, so help Lieutenant Cavanaugh...

The morning following Jane's admission into hospital, Maura was certain she had heard the distinct and thoroughly unimpressed Boston-Italian accent booming through the corridors, all the way from the back of the morgue.

"I am glad you are feeling better." And Maura realises it has been a very long time since she has felt so sincere in a sentiment. She realises how much she has missed it…missed this.

"Yes, well." There is the beep of a microwave and hiss of a bottle opening. "I'll feel a million dollars once this chow mein and Brad Adams become acquainted."

Maura closes her eyes again and smiles to herself at the sight she imagines – shopping and packing not even the milk would have been put away yet.

That is, if the woman even _bought _milk.

"You know, It would be much better for your recovery if you were to keep to foods with less sodium." She says. "A simple avocado salad with pomegranate and walnuts would be far better than a take-out container no doubt full of fried processed noodles and MSG."

There is a moment of total silence. A tiny dread creeps into the Doctor's mind; should she have even said that? Who was she to comment on the food choices of someone she barely knows? Who would-

A sudden, loud crunch in her ear almost makes Maura jump. Her eyes widen and fingers pinch at the base of her wineglass.

"C-rrot." The word is muffled around a mouthful, noisily swallowed. "Happy?"

The fear is replaced with relief and a small smile grows on the doctor's lips. Shaking her head, she finds herself relaxing against the kitchen island. "Carrots are a good source of-"

"Vitamin A, yeah yeah, I know." On the other end of the line, the microwave door opens and take-out container is pulled the rest of the way off. "Ma sent me home with them. Condition of parole." Jane makes just as much noise taking her first mouthful of beer, releasing a satisfied sigh as she swallows.

"She cares about you, Jane." Maura finds herself saying. "That's what-" but the sentiment stalls at the tip her tongue, syllables piling over themselves like a three-car collision. She attempts to disguise it by taking a sip of her wine, silently wishing there was more of a tannin burn to will the words loose. "-that's what mothers are for."

"Yeah, well-" Comes the scoff around another mouthful of beer, followed by the shuffling of groceries and the sound of a drawer opening. "-we can trade. I bet _your _mother wouldn't be locking you in your house for two weeks solid."

"No, I…" The answer forms all too quickly and Maura instantly quiets, and she stares over at the simple piece of artwork hanging by the doorway… The one her mother had given her as a housewarming gift. In truth, she had hung it there so that when her mother came to visit, she would see its prominence. She would notice how much it mattered.

_When she comes to visit…_

Maura blinks away from the piece, irritated by her own wistfulness. "No." She repeats, more strongly this time. "I don't imagine she would."

There is silence between them. Not for the first time, but Maura has learned that there are certain topics, and certain tones the Detective likes to have settle, before moving forward. She appreciates that no further questions come through the phone – no sought clarifications despite the heavy insinuation in her comment. Jane's comfort zone is not unspoken, personal topics. Even still, she knows Jane well enough now, to know she has heard it.

She closes her eyes, wishing she were better at maintaining light conversation. Perhaps something she could work on with her colleagues in the meantime. A sort of… interpersonal experiment. Maura nods once to herself, raises her glass back to her lips and takes in a celebratory mouthful.

"I know what they are saying, you know…"

Maura pauses mid-swallow. Without thinking she pulls the phone from her ear, checking the volume settings hadn't somehow plunged, reaffirming the name on the screen, her stomach tightening as she realises neither has changed.

The mouthful of wine moves uncomfortably down her throat, partially closed by the surprise at a voice she has never heard.

"Jane?" She doesn't meant to phrase is so much like a question.

There is nothing on the other end of the line, and Maura suddenly becomes aware that all movement in Jane's apartment has ceased.

"I know they're comparing Leith to what happened…Before."

Again, Maura needs to do a double-take to be sure the voice she hears belongs to the detective. It is softer than she has ever heard it. Less… Rough. Less… sure.

"I haven't heard any sentiment indicating that is the truth." She says, fingers unconsciously tightening around her phone. She can feel her heartrate accelerating, but is unsure why.

There is a quiet, almost bitter laugh. "That doesn't mean it isn't there." She sighs. "I've heard it, when they think I'm not paying attention. They think I'm off the handle."

The glass spins in Maura's hand, scraping gently on the marble. Maura bites on her lower lip, imagining Jane picking at the label of her beer. She had seen it once, the only occasion the two of them had been 'out' together, as part of a far larger group celebrating Detective Korsak's Birthday.

"What do you think?" She asks.

There is the first sign of background noise since the conversation had veered off into the direction it was currently travelling; the shuffling of fabric against the receiver, followed by the sound of Jane's third mouthful of beer. The detective lets out a longer breath, almost as if she is relieved Maura is asking.

"He was running, Maura." She says, and the old, strong gravelly conviction is back. "He was running and I had no time – he would have got away."

Maura nods, despite knowing it cannot be seen. "Did you do what you felt was the right thing?"

The response is immediate. "I did what I felt was the _only_ thing."

"Despite the risk to your own life?"

"I'm a _cop_ Maura." Her voice lifts a notch, "What is my life _worth_, if I can't protect people from men like him?" The conviction is stronger, but now there is something behind her words…that Maura can tell is not directly related to their discussion. "-if I can't _stop _people like him? Like.. Leith? Like…Like…"

"Like Hoyt?"

Maura doesn't know why she says it. Her hand has flown from her wineglass to her mouth within moments, as if the action could scoop the words out of the air and push them back to before they were spoken. But it is too late, and the total silence on the other end of the line becomes so deafening, she feels compelled to fill it.

"Jane I- I'm sorry." She stutters out, "I had no place-" Her ears are burning and her heart is hammering in her chest, "I should have told you- the interview notes- the ones from that night - I suspected it was due to the fatigue and extreme stress of the case – but his name… his name was written all over them – and you had fallen asleep and if anyone had seen I just - It was why I took them before Detective Crowe could see them and turn them into something… something that they could use against you and-"

"...Thank you."

Her words have come out in such a tumultuous disorderly rush Maura barely hears it. She almost trips right over it, ready to continue with her apologies and explanations and desperate attempts to redeem a situation she feels is now out of control. She realises she is afraid - no, _terrified -_ at the idea of not having that voice on the other end of the phone. Not having _her _on the other end. But something forces her brain to still, and she bites down on her lower lip in a physical response to the command.

"Thank you."

There it is again. Softer. Barely above a breath itself.

"Jane.."

"It follows me everywhere, you know? Since Hoyt... People look at me differently."

There is just enough time for Maura to take a steadying breath, to will words into logical sequence and her mind away from the panic of moments ago.

"What you have endured …" She says, easing steadiness into her voice. "-is significant. Far beyond comprehensible to many." Pausing, Maura runs her fingers absently over the lapel of her silk robe before continuing. "To have recovered so quickly Jane, to be back doing what you do so well, people are going to misunderstand."

There is a long silence, before there is the sound of fabric shuffling against the receiver, and the doctor imagines Jane pressing the phone between her shoulder and her ear, for a moment, before returning.

"…Do you think I have, Maura?"

"What?" She asks.

There is another pause, then finally-

"Recovered." The word is barely audible, and Maura doesn't answer, simply closing her eyes and biting back the sting of tears as the receiver comes to life again at her ear.

"Sometimes, I wonder... If I ever will."


	6. Chapter 6

Under Cover Of Night 6: Sleepless

* * *

_"Jane… please."_

_"Remember, all the conversations we've had? "_

_"Remember them?"_

_"Tell me." _

_"Tell me about the first time I told you-"_

* * *

Dr Isles knows, when the clunk, hiss, and hum of the night-time air de-humidifier kicks in, that she has –even to her own standards – been there too long.

There had been only a handful of occasions that she had been down in the morgue this late. A complex case, or the workload that can only arise when there are too many consecutive deaths with not enough medical examiners to manage them all contributed to nights so prolonged she not only heard the engagement of the de-humidifier, but the moment at 5am the next morning when it switched into the more palatable daytime air _conditioning_.

Maura knows equally well, that neither story fits tonight.

Still, she shifts in her chair, tilting her head at the noise that had become her workday toll, and concentrates on the artificial whirring of air moving through specially-designed vents. And she is listening so intently to the sound, that she barely hears the vibration of her mobile phone against the desk.

It might have been on the final ring before voicemail, or perhaps there was already an impatient commentary waiting for her by the time the doctor had the presence of mind to pick up her phone.

She doesn't even look for the caller.

"Dr Isles."

"You weren't at the Robber tonight."

She knows it instantly, and her mind registers a combination of enthusiasm and fear. The last time they had spoken, had been the night of Jane's… confession. The night of Maura's misstep – she is still not sure which is the more appropriate classification.

Because they had not spoken one word to each other, since that day.

Or specifically, Detective Rizzoli had not spoken a word to her.

Shifting slightly in her seat, Maura's fingers clench around her phone, as she fights the silent wish she had never answered it.

"The celebration was for the closure of your case, Jane." She says. "My presence wasn't required, or appropriate for that matter."

She hears the scoff clearly. "Maura, you _gave_ us the DNA match…"

"Actually it would be more correct to say that CODIS gave you the DNA match."

The tone at her casual – and entirely accurate – response, gives way to incredulousness and a hint of frustration, clearly evidenced by the next comment.

"Well… _you_ gave it to CODIS."

"Data entry, Jane." She retorts quickly. "None of which is at all relevant when it comes to the Chief Medical Examiner getting some peace and quiet at home."

"Except. You're still. At _work._" Maura resents the sing-song tone from the detective winding through the phone. The fact Jane has yet to take the bait, or the hint… or…. Whatever her intentions are. "I know your car-" Rizzoli answers the silent question before she even asks it. "-I came by on my way home."

"That is not entirely on your way, Jane."

The response is all she has.

"Why weren't you there, Maura."

"I had a lot of work to do."

_Not entirely untrue._

There is another sigh, punctuated by what Maura thinks might be a frustrated growl. But it softens the moment the detective speaks again.

"Maur, there have been no bodies and there are no open investigations. Even Wally from service was complaining about how boring it has been down there …"

"I-" She begins her reply with confidence, before finding half a second later there is nothing else ready on the tip of her tongue to say, and the doctor finds herself stalling…

…she realises she is still waiting for the second syllable of her name.

It never comes.

Then suddenly - like a voice recording on fast forward - the rest of Jane's words catch up with her. Deep in the recesses of the doctor's shuttered heart, a tiny light cracks through.

"What is it?"

The secondary question snaps Maura out of her reverie and she blinks several times in physical response, her fingers pinching the collar of her blouse together.

"My mother called today." She says, finally. "She is in New York for the week. The Guggenheim museum is celebrating its 50th anniversary on Wednesday."

"Oh…" Her voice carries an inflection that the doctor understands to be positive. "-is she coming to see you?"

"No." She answers. "She wants me to go to the Gala dinner."

"Fancy, Dr Isles. And the problem with this is-"

"Because…" Maura can hear the strain in her own voice and she sighs, noticing an old thread caught on a small imperfection in her desk and pulling at it in irritation. "-she has arranged for me to meet someone there."

"Ooohhh a high-class gentleman, huh?"

"An associate of my father's, who is on the board of Johns Hopkins." Her answer is without amusement. Without any emotion, if she were really to think about it. "Their head of pathology has just announced his early retirement."

There is a moment of hesitation before Jane speaks. "That's… good for him, really." She says, uncertainty cracking through her voice. "I'm sure there'll be a great sending off."

"They're looking for a replacement."

"…Good for _them_."

"They have asked for me."

There is silence now on the other end of the phone. Maura brushes a line of fine dust from the keyboard of her laptop, biting on the inside of her cheek as she does so. It is a poor habit she has had since childhood – one her mother had attempted to rid her of but had never succeeded.

"Where-"

"Baltimore."

"…Wow."

Maura rubs the thin collection of particles between her thumb and forefinger, watching as the oils from her skin help shape the dust into a thin line along the side of her thumbprint. "It's a tremendous opportunity Jane." She continues. "Their research is cutting edge and they have medical centres and schools all over the world…" She then trails off, knowing full well she is only reciting another person's words… knowing that they come from nowhere near the place they should. Without realising her hand has now pressed down over the skin on the left side of her chest; an utterly involuntary reaction that perplexes her.

The doctor closes her eyes.

"So go meet this guy, Maura." The voice tethers her back to reality, and she wonders again, how exactly it had come to pass that she would feel such a strong connection to these calls. _Go meet this guy… _"It sounds… like a _good_ thing."

Clarity.

"No." Her eyes snap open again, her hand drops away and she shakes her head into the phone. "-No, you don't understand. It is a tremendous opportunity but… I don't – I just don't…"

"You don't know if it is what you want?"

It is only after Maura feels the words ricochet against her eardrum that she realises how closely the phone is pressed to her cheek. She releases the pressure slowly, aware of a subtle burn at her ear from the heat of the activated lithium battery.

"I didn't study pathology to work in a hospital." She says, quietly.

"You studied pathology to work in a morgue?"

_Ah. Here it is._

Maura releases a long breath and touches the fingertips of her right hand to her forehead, sliding them outward until her thumb and little finger reach both temples.

"It sounds, utterly illogical doesn't it?" She shakes her head. "But yes- I always wanted to be a medical examiner."

"Why?"

To Maua's surprise, and relief, the question is neither accusatory nor laced with disbelief. It is simply… interest.

Maura takes a deep breath, her stomach fluttering with the impeding and unaired truth.

"Did you know, Jane, that more than two million people died across America last year?" She says. "And of those two million, based on the statistics, one hundred thousand of those people died alone? Without friends, or family, or anyone giving them a second thought... without anybody going to their funeral?" Her hand drops away, coming to rest against her left upper arm. "That's if they _had _a funeral, of course, because there was nobody who would care to plan one…."

"I'm not sure I quite-"

But Maura cuts her off before her conviction can wane.

_Truth._

"I can _be _something for these people, Jane." She says, splaying her fingers out against her chest. "I can speak for them. Give them that last bit of respect, whatever value I can to the life they lived." Then she pauses, a moment of indecision frozen in time as the truth teeters on the edge of her lips….

_ "__Maura, honey… you know my schedule is tight this time. But next time, I promise…"_

…and the next words come out so close to a whisper a part of her hopes the detective hasn't heard.

"…Nobody should die forgotten."

* * *

A/N: I keep saying thanks, it never seems enough. But if I could draw it it would be fireworks and flowers and vegemite sandwiches for all :)

Tx


	7. Chapter 7

Under Cover of Night: Part 7 - Underneath

* * *

_The car door slams._

_Her hands shake as she fumbles with the ignition._

_"Jane? Stay on the phone."_

_She can hear the fear in her own voice._

_She should have known better…_

* * *

_"I know their type."_

She can feel the tiny undulations of the yoga mat pressing into her thigh.

…Hear the tiny burst of static across her speakers, as the garbage truck rolls past her house.

And she can see, out of the corner of her eye, a thread dangling from the sleeve of her robe, floating and twisting in the circulating air.

It has been distracting her for over an hour.

It all has.

Maura clenches her jaw, and with a single, exasperated sigh lowers her hips out of her bridge pose and sits upright, slouching her shoulders. She scrubs an irritated hand over her face, reaches to her right for her chamois and tosses it around her shoulders, mopping up the tiny beads of sweat from her neck and chest.

_"I've seen it before Maura, so many times. And they **all **think they are above the law."_

She can't dislodge the conversation from her mind.

It has been over an hour and a half of twisting, bending, shaping her body into various positions that on any other day would guarantee focus, calm… clarity. But none of it… _none _of it is working tonight.

It is 11pm.

She is still… perturbed.

_"-snooty... self-absorbed people with their two-storey houses and three bathrooms and **recreation** room-"_

She can feel the bristling at the base of her neck again.

And realises… it is the room.

Before her playlist dares to embark on an infuriatingly lilting version of "summer rainforests", Maura draws herself upright in what she feels might have been the most graceful move she has made all evening, switches off her stereo and heads out towards the main area of the house.

_"I am confused.. are you saying, Jane, that the fact his parents live in a larger house makes him more likely to be guilty? Is that honestly what you are basing this case on?" _

She passes the kitchen table, noticing her iPhone glowing with activity – missed calls, a text message… two voicemails.

Her blood pressure immediately rises.

"Ugh-" the doctor tosses her chamois on top of her phone and continues to her refrigerator, convinced that the only sound that will truly relax her tonight would be that of a nice, crisp, Pinot Grigio pouring into a waiting wineglass.

_"I've seen this so many times before, Maura-"_

It is from one of her favourite Italian wineries.

_ "Of course, it couldn't possibly be the children with the criminal records, could it?"_

She only realises half way through the pour she has mistakenly chosen a red wine glass instead. The pour is big, and long, and curls strangely around the enhanced shape.

_"They don't have two nickels to rub together let alone be able to orchestrate something like this. This kid – he doesn't socialise, spends all his time alone, has no connections-"_

She forgets to stop.

_"Maybe he's just **lonely** Jane, did you ever think of that!?"_

The memory lashes at her and the pour is immediately cut off, the bottle of wine slamming against the marble of her kitchen island. Drawing a shaking breath, Maura grips to the edge, closing her eyes.

_"-Or are you truly that narrow minded that you believe money solves everything? That growing up in a nice house guarantees stability? Happiness?"_

She cracks one eye open. The large, bowl-like wineglass is almost half full and the bottle more than one third empty.

Far more than she had intended.

_"It's sure as hell better than the alternative."_

Underneath the chamois, Maura can hear her phone vibrating, the long drawn pulses of an incoming call. Clenching her jaw, she replaces the lid to the bottle after three clumsy attempts to line up the thread.

_"Well, I can't find the connection you are looking for, Jane-"_

She squeezes her eyes shut again.

_"-I cannot. It isn't there, and I am not going to waste any more time looking for it. Not when the real perpetrator is likely still out there."_

The phone keeps vibrating.

_"I suggest you keep the detective work to the detectives, **Doctor**." _

"Stop it, Maura-" She says aloud, and shakes her head sharply in a futile effort to clear it.

_"Well I am sorry, **Detective**, but I speak in facts. I won't be swayed by assumption…. Or your ignorant and wholly misplaced prejudice."_

The vibration becomes a crescendo.

"Damnit!" Her hand darts out, tossing the chamois out of the way and in enough time to jab firmly at the 'decline' icon on her screen. "Damnit…." She repeats again, under her breath.

The vibrations cease.

_"Now please, get out of my morgue."_

There are two sharp sounds that several seconds later indicating a third voicemail. Maura realises she is holding the bottle of wine in her other hand so tightly her fingertips are turning white.

_"I mean it, detective. Please don't make me have security remove you."_

The phone sounds a second, final time, then falls silent.

Oddly, it reminds her of the last breaths of something dying.

…and the only thing Maura can hear now, is the ticking of her wall clock, the whirring of her refrigerator, and her own breathing.

* * *

It is the most peaceful she has felt all day; no music, no physical contortions, no special lighting… just a giant glass of wine and the latest medical journal she had not yet worked her way around to reading.

Lifting the wine to her lips the Doctor takes a sip, and immediately makes a face at the sensation. It has been so long that the Pinot Grigio is now room temperature; the previously delicate balance of flavours now overwhelmed by fruit. She tries a second time and purses her lips together in distaste, sliding the glass away from her on the coffee table and glancing at the clock.

It is already close to 1:30am.

…well past the time she had expected to still be awake.

With a sigh of resignation Maura folds the journal and leans forward, placing it down next to the glass on the coffee table and running a hand through her hair to gently coax the knots her reading position for the last two hours had teased into the ends.

She was going to need to wash it tomorrow.

Standing carefully and stretching her shoulders, she picks up the offending wineglass and walks to the kitchen island, pausing when she sees her phone, with crumpled chamois lying just to the right.

It has not sounded since the last call.

Maura stares at it several moments, contemplating leaving it there until she realises she hasn't set her alarm for the morning. Ordinarily it would not phase her – she is habitually an early riser - but too much has happened in the last twenty four hours she feels… unstable… in that confidence.

She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment more, then reaches for it.

Immediately it opens the message window screen and four new messages appear.

**Yesterday **6:31pm

_'Found building maintenance guy _

_with victim's credit cards. Did _

_work on her heating system last _

_week, managed to get a key cut.'_

**Yesterday **7:46pm

_'Tried calling. Just got word prints _

_you lifted match this guy. _

_Heading out to arrest him now.'_

_'Thought you should know.'_

**Yesterday **9:54pm

_'In custody and confessed. You _

_were right about the Chambers _

_kid, Maura.'_

She can feel her brow knitting together as she uses her thumb to pull the messages up the screen, then down again, reading and re-reading. Her mind recognises the words as a capitulation, but the uncomfortable twist in her stomach refuses to abate.

The information isn't surprising. Maura knew she was right.

But that wasn't the point, was it?

It had been the case that had instigated it all. The beginning of what was to become a fiery, uncompromising confrontation unlike anything Maura had experienced.

The one that had ended with her demanding Detective Rizzoli to leave. The one that had left her so furious she had retreated red-faced and trembling into her office.

_"-snooty... self-absorbed people with their two-storey houses…"_

The twist suddenly becomes painful.

_"-I've seen it so many times, Maura…"_

Frustrated, she turns the phone over against the marble.

The argument shouldn't have bothered her. It wasn't the first confrontation she had experienced with a colleague. It wasn't the first time someone had surprised her with an opinion she hadn't been expecting.

It had been her Mother's parting advice, before she left for boarding school. She couldn't expect to get along with everybody, and she mustn't let that distract her from her goals. _You mustn't let people know they can get under your skin. You must learn to be comfortable alone._

She had. She _had _been comfortable. She had managed this long without making any personal connections, why should they bother her now?

The sudden vibration of her phone strikes her ribcage, directly above her heart. She knows before even looking at the screen, who it would be. There was only one person who would send a text message this late.

With another soft sigh, Maura turns the phone in her hand and swipes it unlocked.

**Today: **1:37am

_'Hey. I know it's late, and I know _

_you aren't answering but… I _

_just need you to know, I know _

_I was a real jerk today.'_

As she reads a second message appears-

_'I don't have any excuse _

_good enough.' _

…before a final -

_'I'm really sorry.'_

The words become distorted and shimmer on the screen, and Maura realises, to her surprise she is reading through a thin sheen of tears.

She wipes her free hand irritably across her face.

A voice in her head demands she put the phone back down. Demands that she ignore the messages, tells her that this is part of personal differences in the workplace, and Rizzoli had just exposed a side of herself that the Doctor had not seen.

They are two different people with conflicting values.

They will never be more than that.

Even as she tries to convince herself, her thumb is lowering to the white reply window and she taps it, constructing the only thing she can think of to say...

'_I have a recreation room.'_

The instant it appears in the conversation screen – a solid, sent, blue bubble – Maura wishes with every fibre of her being that she hadn't sent it. She reaches for her wineglass and forgoes all etiquette by swallowing the remainder of its contents in one mouthful.

Squeezes her eyes shut.

The simple statement has shown all of her cards.

…I was Brendan Chambers

...I had a two storey house and my parents had money…

…I was lonely.

* * *

**A/N: **Hi :) Been a while, I know. Story of my life it would seem! But for anyone still reading, thank you.. THANK YOU. For not giving up :)

Someone asked how many chapters I imagined this story to be. I'm thinking somewhere between 10 and 12, so we're more than half way... stick with me I'll finish.

T


	8. Chapter 8

Under Cover of Night - Part 8: Recovery

* * *

_"I'm- sorry if I-"_

_"Jane?"_

_"It's just that... you asked-"_

_"...Jane?" _

_"...Jane where are you?"_

* * *

There is something… therapeutic… to Maura, about the way she arranges her equipment on her workbench at the end of a day. Something about the way they look on the tray – all blades facing to the left – remnants of a stiffly proper upbringing where table settings were almost more important than the dinner itself.

Smaller implements on the outside.

Forceps and clippers on the left.

The ultimate reset.

It has just gone seven o'clock. The day has passed far too swiftly for the doctor, and she has been vexed by work overflowing into the one weekend she is _not _on call - a remaining autopsy from a murder case today, and the imminent possibility of a complex exhumation, pending the issue and execution of urgent warrants.

She taps the tip of her finger gently against the bench, as she contemplates the rearrangement of plans; coffee, , and most frustratingly the pre-winter clean she had scheduled for Sunday. She wouldn't have time for that now.

She feels her phone vibrate in her jacket pocket and sighs noisily, rolling her eyes at the air. She knows precisely who it is. The same person who had called her the Friday before. And the Friday before that.

She runs a weary hand over her face.

All of a sudden, a late night autopsy seems like an extremely good idea.

Pulling her phone from her pocket Maura stares at the caller ID, purses her lips, contemplates for a moment answering and getting it over with, but ultimately shakes her head and drops the phone onto her desk.

_Coward, Maura._

"So _that_'s what happens when you don't answer my calls."

The sound from the door startles her, and she freezes for the moment it takes to rationalise the voice of her caller against the low yet equally familiar feminine roughness that in itself, fills her with a deeper yet different level of discomfort.

_Jane._

Leaning against the doorway in a white tank, worn jeans, faded navy converse sneakers and grey BPD hoodie stands the detective. Her hair is pulled into a ponytail; the dark curls ending in loose ringlets that hang just above her shoulders. One arm is wrapped around her body, gloved hand tucked under her opposite armpit. The other is by her side, clutching an average-sized plastic bag that is hanging just behind her body, as if she is trying to conceal it.

…Watching her, intently.

Maura wonders for how long this has been the case.

The ME hasn't seen or spoken to Jane since their late-night text exchange over one week ago. Despite Jane's apologies, the doctor still finds the anger from that night pricking at the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, finds her fingers twitch inward in a contained clenching motion.

"Dinner date?"

A tiny muscle in Maura's jaw twinges.

_Let it go, Maura._ She demands of herself, silently. _She apologised._

Hardly the welcome she would have preferred to engender, the ME can instead only bring herself to nod, stiffly.

"Would-be date." She answers, then adds- "Would be… were it up to him."

Jane's head falls casually against the doorframe. Maura's eyes follow the pinch at the edge of Jane's cheek the smile that creeps across the other woman's features.

"So, what did this one do to score a would-be date with the mighty Doctor Isles?" She asks.

It takes several seconds for Maura to realise there is no malice behind the comment. No double meaning, no 'queen of the dead'. No barb that she is so used to shielding herself from.

"It was-" she begins, "It just-" then finds herself stumbling as a separate realisation hits her. The one protecting her from the last time they spoke. The one protecting her from the feeling she had when she had walked through those hospital doors.

Jane's head lifts again, eyebrows knotting together in the middle of her forehead.

Maura allows her fingertips to brush the familiar stainless steel of her work bench and shrugs towards the perplexed detective.

"-It was an old arrangement."

_It was the deal I made to give you the information that nearly got you killed._

"Old, huh?" Jane's earlier expression dissolves, and it is only with a subtle movement of her right shoulder that she tilts upright, and takes one step into the room. Maura's eye dart directly to the threshold, as if in crossing it, Jane has instigated something the doctor isn't ready for. "Lucky." The detective says, and for the first time, she brings the plastic bag around the front of her body. "Because I got takeaway, and over-did it."

Hand held outward, something flashes across Jane's face that is distinctly different from the over-confidence Maura is used to. It is almost… sheepish.

"I got a tofu option?" She offers.

Maura finds herself at a loss as to what is the correct course of action. What was she to do? A part of her still felt on edge following their argument, but there was no doubt the doctor had found comfort in the other woman's company on many occasions. In saying that however, they have never shared such company face to face as yet and her track record with social engagements beyond the superficial was… limited.

"The Morgue is not really set up for dining." She eventually says as she folds her arms across her chest.

"Who said anything about dining?" Undeterred by Maura's hesitance, the detective lifts the bag to shoulder height, making a show of inspecting the contents. She shakes it a little for effect. "Just plastic cutlery and wooden chopsticks here."

By now, the aromas of fried noodles, soy and black pepper are well and truly established in Maura's olfactory region and are heartily clawing at the hole in her stomach. Her eyes dart from the bag, to the detective's face, to her phone, and back again.

Finally she rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

"Just let me send a quick message."

* * *

They settle – at Rizzoli's insistence – on the desk facing away from the slabs. Maura watches with faint curiosity as the detective unpacks their dinner – realising for the first time that the gloves she is wearing are fingerless, revealing short, but otherwise well-kept cuticles and nails. Maura doesn't know why it interests her, but she finds herself distracted by it to the point that she is forced to conceal her attention with an unnecessarily-enthusiastic interest in the food.

They talk briefly about the day. Maura is working on another detective's case, and she can tell there is an underlying irritation in Rizzoli's questions and conversation that hint at a desire to have landed it herself.

She does not take kindly to Maura's suggestion that is the case, and begins to stab at the contents of her noodle box with her fork as they fall into inevitable silence. Again, Maura is drawn to the detectives' fingers, wrapped in a full-fist grip around the plastic as she inelegantly spears pieces of broccoli, drops them back into her noodle box and starts again.

The image riles against the doctor's own upbringing, once again her mind diverts to silver cutlery and perfectly-placed dinner sets. She looks down at her own food – delicately captures a snow pea between the tips of her chopsticks and turns it over, testing its elasticity, wondering when it was she took her dexterity for granted.

"I haven't had many girlfriends." Jane suddenly blurts out, drawing Maura's attention upward. Then, as if aware of the lack of context of her comment, Jane's eyebrows lift and she helplessly flicks her wrist outward. "Female friends." She clarifies, before redundantly adding- "Friends… who are girls."

Having initially been taken slightly aback, Maura can't help the amusement bubble up from her very strictly-confined place of control.

The detective stops flapping and now sits with an expression somewhere between frustration and annoyance, toying with an errant noodle that has flipped over the side of the take-out box. Indulging herself in Jane's obvious discomfort a moment longer Maura finally shrugs, and pierces a piece of tofu with her chopstick.

"I'm unsure what you are referring to." She says, collecting a precisely-sized mouthful of noodles between the two slivers of balsa.

Jane rolls her eyes, braces her feet against one of the supports of her stool and leans back in her seat.

"Come on Maura, don't make this harder than it already is."

"If you are referring to our disagreement-" Maura starts, lifting a second portion of noodles to her lips, but is stopped by an exasperated sigh whipping past her ear.

"Not _that_, Maur." Jane shakes her head.

Maura tilts hers, dinner dangling from the chopsticks in front of her face.

"The _aftermath_. This bit." Jane gestures back and forth in the air between them, feebly. "The 'I've screwed up and want to fix it' part."

In the same moment that Maura realises she had been inappropriately smug through Jane's admission, she finds herself suddenly frozen, unable to react one way or another to her words. The detective watches her for a full ten seconds, then her shoulders sag and a lower, softer sigh escapes her lips.

It sounds like defeat.

Frowning again at her dinner, Jane finally commits to the rogue noodle and combines it with a small corn on her fork.

"If you were a guy," She says, then shrugs. "I'd… I don't know… punch it out?"

_I don't know how to do this, Maura._

The words strike at the Medical Examiner as if they had been spoken aloud. She almost recoils from it. Her eyes narrow and she studies the woman in front of her. It strikes Maura how little she knows about the person behind the badge, and it occurs to her that perhaps, even the smallest particulates she has been privy to, may be things few others have seen at all.

Jane, unaware, chews her mouthful, frowning at the table.

Finally, Maura relents.

"I haven't had many friends." She says quietly. "I have always found them to be… complicated."

_I do not know either, Jane._

Maura feels the sentiment laced through her words like the first tendrils of smoke from a growing fire. It makes her instantly uncomfortable. But Jane appears genuinely surprised by her comment. Her newly-loaded fork pauses mid-way to her mouth, which is hanging slightly open.

Then, as if in an afterthought, she closes it.

"You research medical journals for _fun_, Maura." Jane says. "What's complicated?"

"Science deals in facts." Maura replies, prodding at a piece of cabbage. "Facts are… well-" She pauses, jabs at her greenery some more. "-They are measurable, irrefutable. I enjoy science because it is predictable." Finally lifting the vegetable between her chopsticks, she dares another glance at the woman in front of her, who herself appeared to be biting off more than she can chew with what looked like a third of the box of noodles caught between her teeth.

Suddenly and unexpectedly, a smile pinches at Maura's cheeks.

"You cannot hope to digest all of that." She says as she attempts to compose herself.

The doctor watches Jane's eyes flash, immediately aware of what is happening. The detective pauses mid-chew and tilts her head.

"Wha-?"

For obvious reasons, the word is poorly formed around rice noodle and chopped carrot.

Her smile grows despite the doctor, and this time, she lets out a deep chuckle, shaking her head.

"Do you have _any _idea… how ridiculous you look?"

Jane's eyes sparkle with mischief. It is the best descriptor Maura can provide – and so devastatingly accurate it catches her a little off-guard.

"I-ot no idea wha' –ou a' 'alking 'out"

Several noodles escape the detective's mouth and drop back into the box. Maura laughs out loud this time. The feeling warms her neck and shoulders, reminding her of the feeling she gets after her first sip of cabernet.

_Dopamine._ She tells herself, and finds the tiniest amount of awe at the woman opposite her, interspersed between curiosity and a tiny remnant of irritation.

"I see." She continues. "Is this how you crack your suspects?" She lifts a portion of noodles and waves them between herself and the detective. "Ply them with noodle box?"

Jane only grins, and winks. Her fingers curl awkwardly around the tiny fork.

...Maura suddenly finds herself unable to conjure up any more anger.

* * *

A/N: Hi :) So, I've had a bit of an issue with the old body-rod the last few weeks (aka spine). It's made me a very unfocused, very grumpy woman.

But things are looking up and now... we have some words strung together! Huzzah :)

I think there will be another 3-4 chapters here, before the end (which in itself is kind of the beginning, I suppose!)

Thank you all for reading

Tx


	9. Chapter 9

Under Cover of Night - Chapter 9: The Beginning of the End

* * *

_The wood is hard against her palm, cool against her forehead. _

_She closes her eyes._

_"Jane?" _

* * *

"Dr Isles."

Maura starts awake, inadvertently pushing the several files in various levels of disarray onto the floor. In a flurry and with a slew of hasty apologies, a figure darts past her, crouching beside the workbench and begins to gather them up into some semblance of a pile. "I'm s-sorry.-" is mumbled for the umpteenth time "-I didn't mean to startle you I-"

She blinks rapidly, attempting to clear her eyes and her sleep-addled mind.

"Suzie-"

The rustling from beside her stops abruptly, and the head of her senior criminalist bobs up, followed by the awkwardly-collected papers.

"I'm sorry, Doctor" She repeats. "I know it is late-"

Maura waves a conciliatory hand in her direction, "Suzie it is alright." She glances up at the clock, and her eyebrows furrow with further confusion. "It's _2am,_ Suzie." She wipes her hand over her face, tucking her hair behind her ears. "What are you still doing here?"

_What was **she **still doing there?_

"I-"

A flashing icon on her laptop screen draws the doctor's attention away from the woman still fumbling to replace the papers into their original files.

A notification from the CODIS database.

Her hand hovers over the optical mouse, then closes down softly as she navigates the report open.

Maura's eyes widen as her eyes scan the words materialising on her screen. As if sensing her reaction, Susie Chang halts her organising and rests her hands on top of the pile.

"I saw your car was still here, so I- came to find you-"

Maura barely hears her, so intently is she digesting the information. Suddenly, the palm of her hand feels clammy against the mouse.

_No…_

"It's… a match Doctor Isles."

The comment is redundant. Maura already knows.

She can see Susie Chang watching her out of the corner of her eye, waiting for her response... her next move. Maura attempts a calming breath, but the air feels as thin in her lungs as her tongue feels thick in her mouth; and she wonders, at what point analysing evidence began to challenge her long-standing and well-reputed impartiality.

…but the answer lies deeply etched in her next words.

"Has anyone informed Detective Rizzoli?"

* * *

_"They still hurt, don't they?"_

_"…What?" This time, when the question is spoken around Jane's mouthful of noodles, there is no playfulness in her tone. _

_Maura curses herself immediately. _

_She finds herself the subject of an intense stare as Jane's chewing slows, and without breaking eye contact the fork drops to the table surface with a tiny clatter, her gloved hands retreating into her lap._

_"I'm sorry." She says, own hands folding similarly away, but hers out of chagrin rather than defensiveness. "Please, I shouldn't have-"_

_"Why?" The question is barely above a breath. _

_A heat flushes the doctor's cheeks and a terrible knot winds its way through her stomach. The conversation had been so natural, so organic up to this point. She had forgotten… _

_"No, Jane- Please." She repeats, the only word she can think of to use. "-Please, it is none of my business." _

_"Why?" there is more force behind the word this time and the doctor cannot hide her wince. _

_"I-I just noticed… the way you hold your fork-" _

_"…Suits me fine." Jane says gruffly, turning away before adding "I can still fire a gun." _

_"But the cold makes them worse." The comment is a reflex, spoken well before she has a chance to sense-check it. Maura immediately turns away, her mouth hanging open, partly in shock at what she has just said and partly still trying to analyse her own thought process. _

_"What?" Comes the hiss from beside her._

_Maura shakes her head. "Please, I'm sorry I-"_

_"No." She is cut off again. "Finish."_

_Maura sighs, deeply. This was not how she had intended the conversation to go. Delicately, she rests the tips of her fingers against the corner of the table._

_"Your gloves." She answers, gently, then turns, chancing the opportunity to face Jane's scrutiny, but finding the dark fire behind the other woman's eyes too much to hold. She looks away again. "They are lightweight and synthetic, cycling gloves. They aren't insulated."_

_"So?"_

_"You don't wear them for warmth." _

_Part of her expects the next sound to be the scrape of a chair against the polished concrete floor… expects the exhale of infuriation, the sound of a noodle box and its contents hitting the ground, the sound of footsteps retreating through the door… _

_But there is nothing. _

_Instead, a thick silence descends upon them, soaking up every tiny mechanical sound and amplifying it tenfold. The whir of the air purifier. The tick of the wall clock._

_Maura bites down on her lower lip. _

_All she can do is wait._

_When finally, the tiny sound of an inhale softens the air. The doctor finds herself closing her eyes with relief._

_"I tried them." Comes a quiet admission. Quiet and hesitant and… uncertain. The doctor opens her eyes again, but she is too afraid to move, so instead she tilts her head slightly so that Jane would know she is listening. "They were too obvious," Jane continues. "-and the ones that weren't – were too thick." With this new angle she sees Jane shrug, sees her clasp her hands together on the table. "The first winter was hell. Now, it hurts but... I work around it."_

_"Why?" Is all Maura can think of to ask, even though she knows it is a question that could be interpreted a thousand ways. _

_But Jane finds precisely the correct one. _

_"They make me damaged." She says, softly._

_The comment take a moment to settle, but the instant they do Maura is looking across at Jane, shaking her head in disagreement. _

_"No." She says. Jane tilts her head, as if surprised, and Maura shakes hers a second time. "No." She repeats, more firmly. "Jane, they make you strong. They make you brave."_

_Smiling sadly, the detective leans back again, her hands folding outward to the table's surface before sliding away into her lap. "You and I both know that isn't true, Maura."_

_Maura feels the pinch of her brow creasing inward. "No I don't Jane." She says, watching them retreat, noting the fraying edges of the gloves at the fore and middle finger of her Jane's left hand. "I don't know that. You **are** those things, But-" She pauses, glancing back up again, finding raised eyebrows, dark eyes questioning, pleading… _

_Maura instantly recalls the conversation from so many weeks ago, when Jane had asked her if she thought she had recovered. _

_'Sometimes I wonder if I ever will….'_

_How much context fell around that statement now._

_She slides her hand closer to Jane along the table. The detective watches it cautiously, blinking slowly. _

_"I didn't say it doesn't make you vulnerable." Maura speaks, holding her voice just above a whisper. " I didn't say it doesn't make you impervious to-" _

_An unexpected movement in her peripheral vision causes Maura to stop. Jane is looking directly at her, but the distinct sound of material sliding against material cause Maura's heartrate to immediately accelerate, and she finds herself too afraid to look anywhere other than forward. _

_When the movement finally ceases, Jane's eyes lower, and Maura takes it as her cue to do the same. To look where Jane wants her to. _

_Heart now squarely in her throat, Maura turns her attention downward, to find the detective holding her hands stretched out, towards her… _

_Jane has taken off her gloves, and whispers the last word herself._

_"…Fear?"_

* * *

"I think it is important at this point that she not be involved."

Maura feels the paper pressing into her palm, the words burning into her skin and up along her spine to her cheeks as she looks incredulously at the Lieutenant.

This had not been what she had expected, coming here.

"Sir the results-" As if to emphasise the point, she holds them out toward him a second time, but the Lieutenant cuts her off with a wave of his hand.

"-are still only circumstantial." He says. "And not entirely relevant. This is not her case. We don't go around sharing every detail of every case with unassigned detectives – no matter who they are. Besides-" He gestures in the direction of the sprawl outside his office. "-Rizzoli and Frost have a solid lead on the Long Wharf murder. They can't afford distractions."

Anger pricks at Maura. "I do not believe this to be a simple distraction." She says, anxious of the need to temper her tone. It is not the first time in her career the Medical Examiner has come up against a superior she disagrees with, however she fails to remember a time she was doing so as emotively.

_Stop it, Maura._ She tells herself, firmly. _This will not get you anywhere. _

The Doctor allows herself a moment to regain control, and straightens. "Lieutenant. These results are conclusive – there is nothing circumstantial about them. The DNA is a match."

The Lieutenant nods. "I agree, but its presence in this case _is, _at the moment circumstantial. He is in prison."

"Sir-"

Maura doesn't know where the plea comes from, and barely recognises it as her own voice.

"Doctor Isles. I appreciate your concern." He leans forward over his desk and clasps his hands together. "-but weren't you the one who argued, quite emphatically I might add, that Rizzoli coming back, regardless of her exemplary record, risked resulting in an 'unequivocally impulsive detective chasing her demons all over the city'?"

Suddenly feeling a rush of sensation she is unused to, yet immediately recognising it to be guilt, Maura purses her lips.

"I… regret those comments." She says, barely loudly enough for him to hear, glancing down at the paper in her hand… suddenly struck by the truth. Her impartiality, her relentless pursuit of the facts now seems mired in a complexity she is unused to.

"Perhaps, you shouldn't." The Lieutenant replies, this time more softly. The tone forces Maura to look up, finding Cavanaugh's face devoid of the hard edge she had come to know. A small smile tilts the edge of his mouth. "Strictly between us, Dr Isles," He says, touching the tips of his fingers together against the desk. "I want to protect Rizzoli too. Trust me, I am committed to that." He pauses a moment, before adding- "I took on that responsibility the moment I signed off her reinstatement."

Unconsciously, Maura tucks the file underneath her arm, holding it close to her body as if by doing so, she could protect the world from it.

Protect _Jane _from it.

Cavanaugh glances once at his watch, then stands, apologetically.

"I'm sorry-" He says, "-I have a meeting at eleven. "

All Maura can feel is the manila folder pressed helplessly against her blouse.

"Of course." She replies.

The Lieutenant walks slowly around the desk to stand in front of her, and glances at the door as if to ensure it closed, before looking back to her.

"Doctor." He says, lowly. "I understand you and Rizzoli have formed a … comraderie… of sorts, over the last few months."

Maura blinks, struck by a flash of defensiveness and she once again opens her mouth to protest her professionalism, but Cavanaugh shakes his head and silences her with a gentle touch to the top of her left arm.

"She needs it." He says. "Even if she never admits it…. She does." Quietly, he slips past her, unhooks his coat from the rack close by the door and turns. "The moment I believe Rizzoli needs to know about this, Doctor, she will know." His hand rests on the door handle, and Maura takes her cue to reluctantly disengage from their conversation and follow him. Just before opening the door Cavanaugh pauses again, and tilts his head. "-and I will be the one to tell her."

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews and follows... (and spinal well-wishes!) and for anyone just getting on board, I appreciate it so much.

For anyone also following the other stories. Yes, I am one of _those _authors, guilty of having a few different things going. For the record I have not given up on any of them, and as I have been asked directly, yes that includes Puzzle Pieces. The muses fled completely on that story, I know it is an age since it was updated but it is still in my mind and I do intend to finish it.

Also, I have been asked whether this is rizzles end-game. When I started writing UCON, I wanted to create something pre-S01, that explored a version of how their relationship developed before the canon that was the first episode. Is it Rizzles? I think so, but not the 'get together' kind...

Anyway, fingers crossed it works out, and thanks again so much for taking the time to read. :)

Tx


	10. Chapter 10

Under Cover of Night - Chapter 10: Reprieve

* * *

"_You mustn't choose that"_

_Large, questioning green eyes glance upward, a small hand still outstretched toward the object._

_"__But…. He likes to draw." The girl's brow furrowed at the obviousness of the argument "-he is a artist."_

_"__pour l'amour de Dieu…" Her mother's own eyes lifted to the ceiling. "*An* artist, Maura. It is *an* artist. Watch your articles, please. And he is almost thirteen years old. Boys that age do not play with coloured pencils."_

_"__But he *loves* to draw!" Her tiny voice lifted a notch. _

_"__Then he would already have his own set." Her mother tugged impatiently at her wrist, pulling her away from the display. "Come on, Maura that is enough nonsense. His father is a top surgeon, there are far more appropriate gifts you can buy."_

_In one last act of defiance, the girl yanked her hand away, crossed her arms and stood squarely with her back to the art stand. _

_"__He doesn't __**have**__ his own set." She insisted, as forcefully as a five-year old could manage. "The boys down the road took it from him and broke them all. They gave him a black __**eye**__!"_

_Her mother narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice, gesturing with a swift hand. "And you would give him these?" She pointed at the tin of 128 premium watercolours. "- Make him a bigger target? Maura - __**think. **__Does that help him?"_

_It was an argument that the little girl's reasoning – despite being far beyond her years – couldn't compete with. Her head dropped, her arms unfolded, and she murmured softly into the linoleum floor._

_"__No 'mere."_

_There was a pause, in which the girl could hear a breath being drawn in, then out of her mother's nose. It was the same sound she made when she had won an argument with her father._

_"__Good. Now stop making a scene."_

_They had left the tin behind. They had purchased a leather wallet instead. And six months later, her mother had to explain to Maura why she would never see him again. _

_But they had moved away before the funeral._

* * *

The package feels too light in Maura's hands.

She stares at it, forearms braced against her desk, inspecting the wrapping, wondering for the thousandth time if she should have chosen the other option… and contemplates returning home, where no fewer than ten individual rolls of coloured paper lie half-unravelled on her kitchen island…Fragments of different sizes cut into test strips to ensure the pattern matched the contour of the box.

"Stop it, Maura." She whispers to herself as she places it down on the desk, her eyes widening in horror as she notices a fingerprint smudged into the top right of the paper.

She lunges for the tissues, pulls at one as she is rising from her chair and goes to work gently rubbing at the affected corner, while simultaneously wiping the moisture from her palms.

"Damnit-" She hisses. She feels jittery and anxious and nervous all at once.

What was _wrong_ with her?

Closing her eyes a brief moment and inhaling deeply, Maura swipes once more at the corner with the tissue – satisfied the smudge is now removed– and chews on the inside of her cheek as she appraises the tiny white flowers boldly embossed onto the purple backing.

_Feminine, yet not overtly so._

There is no card. In Maura's experience, cards have been nothing more than superficial platitudes ; trite symbols of non-genuine care or concern. In this case, nothing is further from the truth, so a card is simply out of the question.

She glances up at the clock. It is nearly 7:30pm.

Jane and Frost would be back by now.

She closes the file in front of her and deposits it into the top drawer of her desk, simultaneously reaching for her keys. It was all work that could wait until tomorrow.

Slipping her navy blazer over her shoulders, she allows the feeling of the silk lining sliding over her arms to momentarily soothe the nervous tingle along her skin. She gathers her belongings and deposits them neatly into her handbag, before reaching for the box on her desk, gingerly sliding it down behind her purse.

She finds Detective Frost first. He is hunched over his desk, pouring over what looks like interview notes, so close to the desk light it leaves Maura wondering if he is doing it in some form of subconscious attempt to draw more answers from the words.

Maura does her best to approach quietly, but finds within less than ten steps of exiting the elevator, Frost has stopped reading and is now looking up.

He smiles, a bright warm smile with a hint of mischief that she has come to know. The man is so much more than what she first thought.

"Hey Doc" He greets warmly, "What are you still doing here?"

"Just… finishing some outstanding reports… a few things I needed to tie up." She answers. Unconsciously, Maura touches the side of her bag where she knows the package lies. Jane's chair is notably empty, however her desk is still sprawled with notes and photos and several brochures.

Reading her response, with a chuckle he gestures over his shoulder with his head, as if she were right behind him.

"She's letting off some steam." He says, then wags his eyebrows. "It's going to be a loooong night."

Maura blinks at him, unsure of what precisely he is insinuating. And again there is that smile...

"Down at the gym." He says, without her even needing to ask. "She says it helps her think-" then shrugs. "-I don't know, I prefer a good cup of coffee myself."

"Oh I see-" Maura replies, somewhat awkwardly, and nods. She finds her heart sink a fraction. "-I won't disturb her then. Would you tell her that I stopped by?"

"Go down there -" He says. "She won't mind." His smile morphs into a cheeky smirk, and with a wink he adds- "Hell, she's probably just sitting there pretending to do exercise."

Maura is unsure of what to do. Interrupting Jane during her exercise does not seem like the proper avenue to take. However, Frosts reassurance that she wouldn't be bothered by it sits squarely in the other corner of her rationale.

"Alright." Maura says, nodding once, stiffly. She begins to turn, falters, then turns all the way. Decision made, she heads for the elevators. "Good luck with your work tonight."

"G'night Doc." Frost calls after her. "Tell Jane to hurry up and get motivated, this case isn't going to solve itself!"

* * *

The BPD gym is small, but sufficient for the number of officers and detective who use it. Maura herself has yet to try out the equipment – she has her own private gym membership closer to Beacon Hill that she prefers to use.

At this time of night, the gym is frequently empty. But as Maura approaches, she can see the open door, light spilling out onto the lower-lit corridor, and she can hear the soft thuds coming in quick succession from inside.

The volume increases as she nears, and she can now distinguish the rattling of a chain.

Once again she questions the appropriateness of what she is about to do. In reality they have only engaged in personal, face-to-face conversation once. Her mind

She finds herself standing in the doorway, watching Jane strike at a punching bag – left, then right, then left – beads of sweat flying off her body with each connection. Short exhalations accompany each punch, muscles clearly visible under her tank top – definition exceptional.

Maura finds herself unable to look away.

Surety.

Jane's stance, her posture, everything - every move Jane makes, exudes simple _surety_. Simplicity. Confidence. She looks light on her feet, each jab precise, perfectly placed in the centre of the bag, perfectly timed for the forward swing.

So engaged is she by the sight, it takes Maura a full second to realise that Jane has stopped, and is staring directly at her.

Mortified, panic immediately sets into her throat. Has she been caught starting? _Was _she staring? _Why _was she staring?

…What was she staring at?

A deep crimson crawls up her neck and she feels the heat of embarrassment flush over her scalp.

"Hey-" Jane says, "I didn't see you there."

The causal tone to her voice belies no malice.

"Yes." Maura says. "I apologise. I had a – piece of evidence I-" She clears her throat "-wanted to run by you and I wasn't sure- I wanted to-"

She finds herself stuttering. Jane is now leaning against the bag with her forearm at shoulder height, a small smirk appearing on her face.

"Out with it, Isles." She says, "You just wanted to come and watch me in all my sweaty glory."

Having found a tiny reprieve to regain some semblance of composure, Maura makes a show of glancing around her.

"You're the one exercising with the gym door open." She replies

One eyebrow raised, Jane gestures a gloved hand to the vents in the ceiling. "Aircon is shot." She shakes her hand for effect. "Been out for three weeks – this place becomes a sauna with the door closed."

"Ohhh I see-" Maura attempts to sound unconvinced, and when Jane doesn't immediately respond, Maura sees an entry to change the subject. "How is the case?"

Jane pushes away from the bag and walks towards Maura slowly, who herself takes a moment to appreciate the subtle elegance in the way the detective moves. One she hadn't noticed until now.

"Frustrating." Jane says with a short hiss, as she unfastens her boxing gloves and shakes them down her wrists, revealing the other gloves – her own second skin – underneath. "We've got a good lead on the suspect, we know it's him we just-" She tucks the boxing gloves under one arm and flexes her hands outward then inward a few times. She looks up and shrugs. "I hate due process." She mutters. "I tell you, if it was up to me? I'd collar the guy now and beat it out of him."

"Jane," Maura straightens, blinking in horror. "-Due process is a fundamental philosophy of law, dating all the way back to the very Magna Carta our Constitution is written from-" she says. "It is by and large regarded as the single philosophy to thrust mankind into a civilised justice sys-"

She stops mid-sentence, because Jane is openly laughing, her face lit up with genuine amusement that makes her eyes sparkle.

"You really do struggle with humour, don't you?" Jane's voice maintains its rough edge, yet behind it is a gentleness that renders Maura unable to take offense.

"I haven't had much practice." She answers simply, and clasps her hands together in front of her.

Jane nods. "Come on Maur, why are you here? You have better places to be than in the bowels of the Boston Police Department. Surely there's a hot, rich Lawyer or Doctor wanting to take you on a date somewhere…."

Maura takes exception to that comment, and tilts her head, brow furrowed. "Why do you assume that my taste in men would be exclusively related to their aesthetics and occupation?"

"Oh come on, _look _at you!" Jane gestures toward her, still smiling. "The dress, the shoes… the _handbag… _You're wearing seven of my paychecks in only one outfit, but you're surrounded by dead bodies and nerdy assistants and testosterone-fuelled badges."

Maura shrugs. "I enjoy fashion." She says. "I feel it allows me to express myself."

"Of course it does." Jane chuckles again, shakes her head, then tosses her gloves in the corner of the room, returning her hands to her hips. "Come on, why did you _really_ come down here?"

The easy banter they have enjoyed is not enough to stave off the resurgence of fear that Jane's question brings. Maura finds herself suddenly afraid – all of the feelings from before come flooding back.

"I…" She trails off, looks down at her bag, then back up again. "I have something for you."

Jane's eyes narrow, and Maura reaches into her handbag, pulling out the small package, willing her hands not to shake as she hands it forward.

Jane stares at the offered object and her eyebrows knit together. "Maur-" She says, softly, staring at it. "-what is this?"

"It is a gift." She says. "I-" Then stops, unsure of how to continue, yet acutely aware of the tremor threatening her hands should she fail to. Pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to ease the dryness of it, Maura continues. "Gifts are customary when you want to show appreciation for another person. And I-" She pauses again, desperately willing the other woman to take the parcel from her. "-I want to show appreciation. For you. For your friendship."

The wait is agonising, but short, as slowly Jane reaches out, pulling the box into her hands. She turns it over, then back again, and looks up.

"No card?" She asks.

Maura shakes her head . "I… find them –"

"-fake"

"Not always genuine-"

They speak the same meaning, in unison.

"I don't know what to say." Jane whispers, glancing up. "Thank you?"

"Well." Maura says. "It isn't much, just… something I hope you can find useful." She smiles, feeling a weight lifted from her shoulders. "Anyway, I will leave you to it, Jane."

"-You're not going to wait for me to open it?"

Maura shakes her head. "No I-"

Jane cuts her off. "Let me guess." She says. "-you don't like putting pressure on the other person to pretend they like something if they don't?"

Her smile grows a fraction. "Something like that." She answers, and turns to face back down the corridor. "Good luck tonight." She says. "Detective Frost suggested it may be a long night."

Gift momentarily forgotten, Jane flounces her shoulders and screws her face up. "Ugh don't remind me." She whines. "-I'm going to be here _for-ev-er_."

Maura chuckles, "Well, you have my number if there is anything you think I can help you with-" She glances back over her shoulder to the detective. "Good night, Jane."

As she walks away, the doctor finds herself surprised – yet at the same time not so - at the ease in which she has been able to navigate the changes in tone in her conversation with Jane. It is something she has become increasingly aware of, and as she presses the call button, Maura comes to the conclusion is about time she became used to it, rather than running from it.

The idea warms her.

She is just about to step into the elevator when she hears her name.

"Maura wait… "

She stops, heel hovering over the threshold. She lowers her shoulders, steps away, and turns around.

Jane is walking toward her, holding the unwrapped gift in both hands. The expression on her face is unreadable to the doctor, and for a fleeting moment, despite her own commitment to go more boldly, she wonders if perhaps on this occasion she has done more harm than good.

Jane stops directly in front of Maura, silent, and the doctor notices that against the box, her thumbs are moving backward and forward.

A nervous gesture.

"Why?" She whispers.

Maura considers the question carefully, takes a deep breath, then releases it, slowly.

"Because it is late November." She answers, "The ones you have – will not keep them warm." She reaches out, touching the box gently, realising in that moment it is shaking in the detective's hands. "These were originally designed for the medical staff at McMurdo, where dexterity was critical." She softens her expression, determined to hold Jane's wavering eye contact. "Given the temperature in Boston last winter reached levels close to the Antarctic summer, I thought you might qualify for a pair."

Jane doesn't answer right away, but a few seconds later whispers. "Doctors work with fingerless gloves in Antarctica?"

Maura shakes her head, carefully. "No… I made that adjustment myself."

Finally breaking eye contact, Jane looks down. Maura removes her hand from the box, brushing the back of Jane's fingers on her way.

"If you don't want to wear them, Jane." She says. "It is alright."

This time the detective is silent for a long time, but Maura finds herself surprisingly calm. Eventually, Jane looks up again, and Maura is caught by the intensity in the other woman's eyes.

"I spent four months in physical therapy." She murmurs, voice gathering strength as she continues. "Four months seeing a shrink, twice a week, whose only interest was how many nightmares I had, and how many times I thought about eating my gun." Maura tries to hide her flinch at the comment, as Jane presses on. "All they wanted to know was whether I was safe to be given back my badge. And all I cared about was getting it."

"Jane-"

"There's nothing like the fear of being a victim to spur you on."

"You're not a victim, Jane."

"I was made one."

"Once, yes." Maura says. "-But not now. Not anymore."

Jane looks unconvinced, but then out of nowhere she laughs, and shakes her head.

"Where have you been?" She asks, and Maura isn't sure whether or how she should answer until Jane simply continues. "Why is it, that no-one in my family has any idea, and they - and even the guys here – who have known me for… _decades… _don't get it - and yet you come along, out of nowhere, and do this-" She holds the box forward in emphasis, raises her eyebrows in disbelief. "You don't even know, do you?"

"I... don't presume to know what you have been through." Maura says, quietly. "But-" She adds, "-I _am_ here for you."

This time, Jane smiles – a wide smile that was still softer, more raw than Maura had seen before.

"Thank you."

* * *

The next day, Mara arrives early.

On a hunch, she had purchased two additional coffees from her local specialist espresso bar, and quietly enters the bullpen, weaving through the desks and chairs to the other end of the room, to find both Frost and Jane sprawled on their desks, asleep.

Slowly, she deposits a cup in front of each of them – out of range of any wayward waking arms, but stops when she sees Jane's hand dangling off the edge of the desk...

…And smiles too.

* * *

**A/N: **Well, this broke my rule about shorter more succinct chapters... but... this is the penultimate so I guess it is allowed to be longer.

Next chapter is the last one (I can't believe I am actually saying it)

Thank you to everyone who has followed and favourite and to all of you who have taken the time to review, honestly, it means the world. The muses are fickle, and this writer is not brimming with confidence so they often retreat. For those who have stuck by me and continue to do so , despite me being the most infuriating non-finisher in the fandom, I am so grateful for all of you and I promise you I will finish everything I start.

Starting with this one :)

T

PS - There are several topics I wanted to explore in this story; explanations for J/M canon behaviour. I'll list them all at the end when it is finished, and hopefully it will make my ramblings make a little more sense.


	11. Chapter 11

Under Cover of Night - Chapter 11: The End is The Beginning

* * *

Something is wrong

Maura returns from her autopsy, shaking the remnants of soap and water from her arms before unfastening her hair from her ponytail, using her fingers to work it loose, combing some shape into the tresses she had so carefully arranged that morning.

She stops, when she notices her phone a full foot away from where she had left it, teetering on the edge of the desk. The doctor approaches it slowly, and her hand drops away from her head as she reads the notifications on her screen.

'4 missed calls

Barry Frost'

'2 missed calls

Vince Korsak'

'1 missed call

Sean Cavanaugh'

Her hand darts forward, gripping the phone… vice-like, as a cold trepidation seeps, low and heavy into her stomach.

_…__Jane._

Without thinking Maura dials her number, ignoring how strange it feels phoning during daylight hours, ignoring how they never... _never _phoned each other for reasons like this-

It goes straight to voicemail.

"Come on, Jane." She whispers into the phone, as she waits for her opportunity to leave a message. The moment the beep comes, Maura closes her eyes, works hard at keeping her voice level, light. "Hi Jane, it's Maura – can you… give me a call when you get this? Not urgent just… need to speak with you, if you have time… when you can… Anyway – talk to you later – Bye."

She is already cursing herself by the time she hangs up, presses the receiver against her forehead… trying to calm her thundering heart.

"Doc?"

She hears the voice from outside her office, and whips around, phone still clasped tightly in her hand as she steps out the door, finding Detective Frost near the entrance to the morgue, eyebrow knitted and hands wringing together as he glances agitatedly left and right.

"Frost-" The name comes out in a rush of air as she closes in on the younger man. "-I was in the middle of an autopsy, I missed my phone-" Beads of sweat have appeared on his forehead, the moment she says 'autopsy' he visibly cringes. Maura is unsure how to read the signals so reaches out, placing her hand on his upper arm. "Barry? Is Jane alright?"

"Fine-" He chokes, eyes still darting around the room. "I came down to- tell you it was alright. Jane went home." Maura is confused, and Frost looks at her, eyes pleading. "-do you think, we could step outside?"

Maura nods… but it would take several weeks for her to fully understand the interaction that had just occurred.

He clutches the glass of water like it is the only thing between him and certain death.

Maura gives him a moment, though her entire being is screaming at him to explain himself.

"We were following a lead. One of the witnesses… gave Jane a letter." He spun the glass in his hands. "I didn't see what was in it, but… she took it straight to Cavanaugh."

"You didn't ask?"

"She wouldn't say. Look, Doc-" He raises his hand up, toward her. "Jane is a… complex person who – as long as I've known her - likes to do things on her own." He spins the glass once more. Maura notes that he hasn't once taken a sip. "And I've learnt now that if Jane doesn't want you to know something, you won't know it." He paused a moment, then added- "But, I'm pretty sure it had something to do with Charles Hoyt."

Maura hasn't heard the name spoken out loud before, and each syllable sends chills all the way down her spine. Frost watches her carefully, as if gauging her reaction, then continues.

"-Cavanaugh told me about the DNA link."

Maura inhales sharply. "He did?" She asks, hoping she can keep her voice in check.

Frost nods. "He told us both, three days ago."

Even though she expects it, the revelation presses hard and painfully against Maura's subconscious. She looks away.

_Three days…_

She feels her gut twist even tighter.

Three days, and Jane called twice. Two days in a row… but she never mentioned-

"She knows you're just doing your job, Doc." She hears Frost speaking, but his voice feels like it is a thousand miles away from where they are sitting, muffled by a shroud of fear. "Cavanaugh told us he asked you not to say anything. Jane understands."

_Jane understands._

Maura presses two fingers to the bridge of her nose.

_"__Why is it, that no-one in my family has any idea, and they - and even the guys here – who have known me for… decades… don't get it-"_

She blinks, hard, pressing her fingers so tightly inward that spots appear behind her eyelids. "Korsak phoned me." She says into her palm, before pulling her hand away again and opening her eyes..

Frost is nodding. "We both tried to reach you, because we thought maybe-" He trails off, with a shrug. "-but she came from the meeting okay, actually pissed she'd been given the afternoon off. I pressed her, but she said she was fine."

Finally, he lifts the glass and takes a tentative sip. Barely enough to wet his lips, before swallowing gingerly.

"I came down because I didn't want you to worry." He says. "I didn't want you to think something had happened to her, like last time."

Maura realises he is referring to Ariel Leith.

But in truth, she would have taken a hundred Ariel Leiths over this.

"Doc, Jane says she is fine." He emphasises it with a subtle nod. "She has been dealing with these sorts of things… for a while now. On a very basic level, personal threat is part and parcel of the job. Besides-" He reaches across the table, gently touching her forearm. "If Cavanaugh thought there was a problem, he would have phoned you himself….."

* * *

"He's been moved into isolation." Cavanaugh says vaguely, as he waves the second officer out of his office and leans across Maura to close the door. The moment they are alone, he continues. "We have assurances there can be no more contact with anyone on the outside."

Maura watches the Lieutenant's posture, so far removed from what she has known of him. Of course there is his regular assuredness, but underneath lies an anxiousness that Maura finds difficult to put her finger directly on.

The way he taps at the side of his desk as he speaks.

The way he adjusts his shirt.

"We're tracking down the person who transposed the letter." He says, giving one more tweak to his collar, then blows out a breath from between his lips.

Like it is heavy.

Maura eyes him, carefully.

"Lieutenant?" Her voice belies her nervousness at asking what is, essentially, none of her business. But she is too far now. Too far in to ask any differently. "…What was in the letter?"

Cavanaugh waits a long moment, appearing to consider whether or not to answer. Finally, he moves around the side of his desk, opens the top drawer and removes an evidence bag, holding it out to her, silently.

Maura takes a step forward. Her brow furrows in confusion at first sight.

"It's a….greeting card." She says. Her hand hovers over the plastic, unwilling to touch it. A Hallmark-styled card rests inside, with embossed gold lettering garishly sprawled across a white background.

It takes Maura a minute to resolve the words on the front, and the instant she does she immediately recoils from it as if the very touch were poison, and her eye dart up to the man holding it, wide and disbelieving.

"Is that…"

Cavanaugh nods, eyes solemn. His hand lowers.

"A year ago, today." He tells her. "The address of where it happened is inside."

Her inhale is sharp.

_Jane…_

A dread settles across the back of Maura's shoulders, making her hairs stand on end. Her image of the woman she had come to know, against the history Jane had endured compete violently against each other and Maura feels the temperature of the room drop, wondering for a moment how it could be scientifically possible – until Cavanaugh's voice cuts across her.

"Doctor Isles."

Maura suddenly realises she is staring at the space where the card had been, acutely aware of the sound of the desk drawer closing, and the Lieutenant's careful scrutiny.

Looking up she clasps her hands together in front of her, her right forearm pressing very consciously against the phone that rests in her blazer pocket.

The moment they make eye contact she sees his expression soften, and a deep, battle-weary man appear behind it.

"Is she-" Maura begins, not entirely sure where she wants to take the question, but he answers it all the same.

"She says she is fine." The words echo the words of Detective Frost, and it strikes like a hot needle, directly behind Maura's left shoulder-blade She finds herself clenching her jaw.

"But-" The word is difficult to speak, caught around her teeth.

Maura is surprised when Cavanaugh laughs, softly. He slides his hands into his pockets, rolls his shoulders and glances once to the ceiling.

"It's Jane Rizzoli." He answers, like it speaks the truth.

Maura squeezes her arms to her sides. She can feel the contours of her iPhone clearly against her arm, pressing hard enough for the warmth of the battery to heat the skin beneath the sleeve of her blouse.

She thinks he may as well have said nothing.

She almost doesn't notice him reaching out a second time, a folded piece of paper between his thumb and forefinger.

"What is this?" She asks, even as she gathers it into her hands.

Even as she unfolds the paper.

Even as her eyes scan across the lettering…

…And fold it then carefully closed, looking up.

Cavanaugh nods, his eyes darting between hers, before he finally answers.

"It's Jane Rizzoli."

And in that moment, he says it all.

* * *

A/N - Hey folks, I know I said this was the last chapter, but in writing it, it worked out to be better in two parts... so... the good news is, it is written, and will quickly follow this one :)


	12. Chapter 12

Under Cover of Night - Chapter 12: What Is

* * *

_'u awake?'_

Maura catches the message on the second tone. Blinking awake to the soft glow from her iPhone screen, she reaches across her body toward it, fingers sliding over the empty wineglass by her bed.

It is a moment of instant relief.

Having made the decision not to try to press Jane any further, Maura has spent most of the evening distracted by second-guessing and concern. Even the Sangiovese has provided little of the comfort it normally would, the medical journals providing little of the focus they normally offered.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she wipes her hand over her eyes and blinks a second time.

_'yes.' _She types quickly into the message box. Her thumb hovers over the send button and she chews on the inside of her cheek, before returning to add '_I am glad to hear from you'._

Maura watches the little bubble underneath her delivered message, indicating Jane is typing something else… but it disappears a few moments later without amounting to anything.

"Come on Jane.." She whispers at the screen.

As if in answer, the phone springs to life with the incoming call. Maura releases the breath she didn't realise she was holding, and lifts it to her ear.

"Hey there."

"Hi." It is the same voice… maybe a little fatigued, but the same. A tiny smile touches Maura's lips, and she closes her eyes for a moment, content to allow their connection to soothe her nerves… aware of how easy it was. On the other end of the line, Jane speaks again. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

Maura cracks open one eye, staring at the clock for the first time.

2:46am.

"It's alright," She says, "I was awake when you phoned."

There is a thin chuckle. "That's because I texted you first, Maura."

Maura laughs a little, despite herself.

"That is true." She admits. "You got me."

"Aha- see, I'm onto you."

Her smile widens.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She says, settling her head back against the pillows. She lifts her knees and stretches her free arm above her head, letting it fall back against the headboard.

"Having trouble sleeping?" She asks.

"Yeah." Comes the answer. "I'm sorry, I missed your phonecall earlier today."

Jane's voice is… muted. As if someone has drawn out all of the colour and left it with only the bare structure to define it.

Maura frowns. A tiny amount of unease works its way into her consciousness.

She lifts her arm away from the pillow.

"It's alright." She says. She contemplates telling Jane the real reason she did, but decides against it. "It wasn't important."

Maura can hear the shifting of the phone against Jane's ear – the scrape of material across the receiver, and a small breath in that Jane appears to hold.

"Yeah-" The word is half way to a sigh. "I had a few things…" then Jane trails off, the extent of it remaining unsaid.

There is silence for several moments, and all Maura can hear is her own breathing into the phone. Her unease begins to grow; cold fingertips working their way up her spine, sliding over her neck. She can't place it exactly, but there's something…. _Something…_

Maura lifts her head.

"Jane?"

She realises she is gripping the handset more tightly now. Sweat is gathering on her palm.

It comes barely as a whisper, and the unease bursts across Maura's chest like fire.

"I'm- sorry if I- woke you…"

_No…._

A skip – like a tiny crack in a CD. Like a thought unresolved, a mind stuck on repeat.

_Jane's _mind stuck on… repeat.

Maura knows… she _knows_ what it means.

Her heartrate accelerates.

"Jane?" She calls into the darkness.

"He was right…" The voice falters.

"No…" The word tumbles from Maura's mouth as if it had been waiting there the whole time. Sitting bolt upright, she wedges the phone between her ear and her shoulder as she throws off her covers and fumbles in the dark for the switch to her bedside lamp. "…Jane?"

_Thump Thump Thump._

"..he was right the whole time…" It is wistful in its repetition – again, like the CD has skipped through the verse into the chorus… but now painfully distant. "He knew he'd win."

"No Jane- " Maura yanks at the drawer to her dresser, frantically tugging on underwear and a pair of yoga pants one-handed, reaching for her bra and exercise shirt with the other. "No. He hasn't. He won't." Pulling the garments over her head she does her best to fasten her bra, secure her shirt, and tie her yoga pants one-handed, the phone barely leaving her ear.

As if it is all she has.

"Jane...where are you?"

There is no answer.

"Jane?" Maura tries again, desperate, her bedroom door swinging open with more force than necessary, her stairs creaking with the speed she descends them. "Jane? Are you at home?" She grabs her jacket, snatches at her purse, fumbles it open and reaches, shakily for the folded paper inside. It only takes her an instant for recognition before she is out the door.

She forgets her shoes.

She is half way to her car when a she suddenly freezes – caught by a memory from a conversation barely a week ago… a throwaway line innocuous enough at the time, but here, now, under the cover of night, strikes a new, terrible fear into her heart.

"…Where is your gun, Jane?" Her voice barely carries the distance to the receiver.

The cold from the concrete hits the soles of her feet, drawing out whatever warmth is left in her body that isn't already overrun with panic.

Still there is no answer.

Maura looks up into the night, at the heavy cloudcover blanketing the sky, watching her breath steam away from her, feeling a pressure descending on her shoulders. She closes her eyes.

"…Jane? Where is it?" She clenches her free fist, bunching the material of her top between her fingers, pressing it hard against her chest. She pushes the phone closer to her cheek.

_Please…_

It feels like all the air has been torn from her lungs; right out from the breath she was half way through taking. Her diaphragm feels like a plate of steel.

When the answer finally comes, it sounds like the whine of a dying engine.

"Maura…"

…Maura is by her car before she even registers she has moved.

The car door slams.

Her hands shake as she fumbles with the ignition.

She should have known better…

"Jane? Stay on the phone." Maura can hear the fear in her own voice, and she bites down on her lower lip – _hard_ – to curb it.

The keys twist clockwise and the car engine roars to life.

"Listen to me, Jane." She has no time for hands-free; she is not willing to risk the moment of separation required to engage it. Maura simply forces the phone more tightly between her ear and her shoulder.

_Jane…_

"Don't hang up." She doesn't recognise the sound she makes - words tangled around a painful lump in her throat, tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

She _should_ have known better…. She should have seen this coming… She should have _known…_

_Jane…_

Gripping the steering wheel with both hands for a moment to centre herself, Maura throws the car into reverse – relying only on the view from her rear vision mirror. "Jane please… don't – stay on the phone."

_Please…_

"-I'm coming."

* * *

_T__he girl had long learned the art of masks. Not the literal, but the figurative kind. The kind that required precision and tact. The kind that required one to navigate through the emotions of another person… at the expense of themselves._

_The mask no 10 year old should have._

_"Mon petit coeur! I have such **fabulous** news!" _

_The cry resonated through the entire entrance hall. The girl was barely a foot inside the door when her mother's figure appeared at the top of the stairs, arms raised. It reminded her of a character in the opera her parents had just taken her to – self-absorbed and prepared to showcase her talent the world._

_A part of her even expected the woman to break into song._

_"Hello 'mere." The girl said, forcing a smile into her voice as she slid the backpack off her shoulders, relieved at the cool air that soothed the space between her shoulderblades. Summer was well and truly on its way._

_The front door closed softly behind her, and she felt her schoolbag being taken gently from her hands as Arthur – her driver – bent over to whisper in her ear. _

_"I will leave it in your room."_

_This time the smile she offered was genuine – one of the few she had left – and she waited as the Carlotta-esque figure sashayed down the stairs and stopped in front of her, arm outstretched with a glossy brochure in her hand._

_Tentatively, she reached to take It, snow-capped mountains and azure skies landing across her hands._

_"Isn't it wonderful?" Gushed her mother. "Switzerland! We leave on the first of the month."_

_The girl frowned, staring at the pamphlet. It had only just gone the twentieth._

_She had promised him she would be there for his birthday…_

_"Maura?" The voice chimed again... direct, purposeful. "Is there something the matter?"_

_Mask sliding into place, the girl shook her head. "No mother." She answered. "I suppose there will be a new school?"_

_"Well of course!" As if it were obvious. "A French speaking school, do not worry. You will not be out of place."_

_Beyond her classes, and intermittently with her parents, the girl hadn't spoken French in over a year. _

_Nevertheless, she nodded. Just as she had always done._

_"Yes 'mere." She said._

_Unconvinced, her mother stood for several long moments, hands on her hips. Finally, she pointed a finger towards the girl. _

_"Do not worry about the people, Maura." She said. "The ones you consider friends" Reaching out, she brushed a curled finger along the girls cheek. The girl did her best not to flinch from it. "Peers only exist for you to measure yourself against." The woman gestures somewhere above her, speaking to the air. "To challenge yourself, yes, but never to trust. For they are no more fixed than a sunset. Than the petals of a flower." Then, she finally looks down. __"You will find, in time, you will not need them, and all your concerns were for naught."_

_"But you and father are married!" The girl exclaims defiantly._

_The question seems to perturb her mother greatly. "For goodness sakes la fille, show some maturity." She snaps. "Your father and I have an **arrangement**. It is a contract whereby yes, we share many things, but even still he and I remain our own people." _

_"There are no guarantees in life, Maura - only the ones you afford yourself."_

* * *

_Come on, come ON…._

Maura's car is built for speed, but even it can't compete with the thick layer of fog rolling underneath her wheels, blanketing the space in front of her, giving the night a presence and a _texture_ that now feels cold and deep and heavy and _sinister_.

The night, that had once been so comfortable.

_ "Jane, remember all the conversations we had?"_

-Bears down on her like walls, closing in.

_"Remember them? Tell me."_

On them both.

_"Tell me about the first time I told you about fear…. "_

And Maura is terrified.

_"Jane?"_

There is nothing but silence by the time Maura arrives at the apartment block. Beyond keeping the line open, her attempts to connect with Jane have failed, and for the first time her rational mind kicks in... should she be hanging up, to call 911 instead?

It is a thought not far from Maura's mind as she approaches the security entrance to Jane's apartment building. But in the end, she isn't required to test it - someone is arriving at the same time as she is. Many years from now Maura may have recognised the serendipity – but for the time she was only able to offer the tenant a weak smile and mumbled apology, as she pushes past him.

"Jane?" She tries once more, as she climbs the stairs to the floor she has been indicated. "I Know you're still there."

_She didn't._

"Hey, listen for me-" She says breathlessly, as she rushes to door 12, hoping beyond hope she has made the right decision. "Jane – I'm here." She knocks just below where the numbers are positioned. She knows it is where the greatest resonance will be achieved without bringing anyone else's attention to her presence, or Jane's predicament. "Jane?" Maura knocks a second time. "Jane….Open the door."

She pushes several times against the surface, as if there were some secret panel she could touch that would force the door to open.

Maura realises, Jane's wooden door may as well be cast iron.

"Come on, I know you're in there…" She whispers. "Jane please… open the door."

Out of nowhere the phone burst to life – a breath, a second.

…and a click.

"He's here, Maura."

Any relief she may have felt at the reinforcement of Jane's presence is immediately dashed. Maura's heartrate remains as high as ever, her trepidation off the scale.

"No-" She says, knocking again. "_I'm _here, Jane. It's me." She then stops; her hand pressing against the surface of the door, as if her touch would help to convey the message through to the other side. "Charles Hoyt is in jail." She bites down on her lower lip. "I _promise_ you, he is there."

There is a pause, followed by the sound of fabric brushing against the phone. "You don't-" Comes a voice, thin and barely coherent. There is the tap of metal against… something. "You can't-"

Maura grips the phone "_Trust _me, Jane." She knows she is begging now. She leans forward. The wood is cool against her forehead, hard against her palm. "Please…"

There is nothing, and Maura feels all her chances falling away. She digs the backs of her knuckles against her eyes until her eyelids are a burst of colour.

She is running out of options.

She plays her last hand.

"….What was your firearm requalification score, Jane?" She asks, "When you came back to the force, what was your requalification score?"

The air fills with static, faltering, messy and unclear. Maura can't help but imagine the same static bouncing between Jane's ears. Maura bites down on her lower lip as she waits.

"99%" Crackles softly, as if it were a statistic even Jane hadn't thought about.

Maura knew, it had been the highest in the BPD for over a decade. The only person who had beaten it, had been Jane Rizzoli herself.

"How many civilians?" She asks again, determined, resolute.

She doesn't expect the answer to come so quickly.

"…one…" This time, Jane's voice is throatier, "I- shot one in the leg." Maura imagines she can hear Jane's voice – her real one – on the other side of the door, mirroring the words. But she knows it is too soft for that to be possible. Still, it gives her a glimmer of hope, and she flattens both palms against the door, closes her eyes as she utters the words...

"So aim it. Point your gun at the door, And open it."

"Maura.." The word is a warning. Dangerous. Maura shudders despite herself.

"I'll take my chances, Jane." Conviction, from a place well beyond Maura's understanding, flows through her voice. "I promise you, if it is not me-"

"Maura, please…" And this time, she can hear the shuffle of feet, the words echoing between her phone and the air behind the door. "Maura.."

"Point it. Prepare to defend yourself." Maura hangs up, presses her fingers to the wood, runs her fingertips across the imperfections, takes a deep breath….and closes her eyes.

"Open the door, Jane."

She feels the chain pulled across the door lock.

She feels the deadbolt twisting open.

She feels the door swing inwards…

And resolute, she steps forward.

Into the barrel of a gun.


	13. Chapter 13

Under Cover of Night - Chapter 13: Requiem

* * *

Many say that there is an instant, before something significant happens, of pure silence. Suspended in time, when even the dust won't settle for fear it may disrupt the inevitable… As if the universe itself is spreading the gap between seconds, to allow a person a moment to reflect.

Caught inside that space Maura sees Jane's expression – wild, unfocused. Sees the gun wobbling violently in her trembling hands. Adrenaline courses through Maura's veins – so fiercely it pricks at her skin.

It occurs to Maura then, that she has no plan. That she had come here, on instinct alone, with no experience, or concept of what to do when she arrived. She was not a comforter, not like this. If it didn't involve facts or science she was as good as a fish attempting to fly.

The door is still open. She has a moment to decide…

…and all she can hear, is her mother's voice.

_"There is nobody worth sacrificing for, Maura. Believe me. Your world is your own."_

Jane's face is ashen, eyes shadowed by days of minimal – if any – sleep. Both her hands are wrapped around her firearm, held out from her body, yet Maura can already see the strain of keeping it upright bowing her elbows, causing her body to shudder.

_"..You must learn the value of solitude."_

Maura takes a deep breath.

She steps forward.

The sound rushes back to her like a wave breaking, but now everything is heightened – as if a rallying cry in payment for the quiet she had been afforded. Maura can hear _everything – _the humming of Jane's refrigerator, the sound of the clock on the wall. The click of the front door, closing behind her.

_"…It will be your confidant."_

"Jane…" Maura calls her name softly, stepping forward one more time, so that there is barely an inch between the barrel of the gun and her chest. "It's me."

A strangled whimpering sound escapes Jane's throat. Her erratic breaths hiss in and out from between clenched teeth, reaching a crescendo as the tremors become more violent, and the knuckles of Jane's hands turn white with exertion.

Slowly, Maura raises her hands into Jane's line of sight, then gently lowers her right over the top of the barrel.

"It's alright…" She whispers.

Jane cries out, and suddenly, the gun is skittering across the polished floorboards, coming to rest by the far wall.

Her knees are buckling.

Maura lunges forward in time to catch her, whispering Jane's name once… twice as she lowers her gently to the floor, pulling the limp form against her body, as Jane is wracked with gut-wrenching sobs filled with so much anguish they tear the very air in two… and threaten to take Maura's heart with them.

"It's alright," She repeats the words, and variations of them, over and over into Jane's hair, until Maura feels a hand close around the hem of her top, gathering the material into a fist and pulling it closer to her. The action invokes a reaction in Maura she is not expecting – one of fierce protection for the woman in her arms – a woman, barely more than a stranger only months ago.

…she thinks about her mother's words.

Jane's eyes are closed, her sobs have quieted but her body is still shaking. On impulse, Maura lowers her head, and presses a soft kiss into her hair.

"Come with me." She murmurs into the curls. "Don't let go."

Maura manages to move them both the short distance to the kitchen island, where she is able to both prop herself up and hold Jane still against her chest, with her knees curled around Maura's left side.

Her fingers find their way into Jane's hair, and begin combing it gently.

"Maur.."

Maura's eyes slide closed at the sound of her name, spoken without fear, without desperation.

With the adrenaline leaving her body, and reality of the situation finally bearing down on her, Maura finds herself unable to stop her own tears from falling. Resting her cheek on the top of Jane's head, she pulls the woman more tightly to her,

She has never done this. Never in her life, been this close to another person.

_"There are no guarantees in life, Maura. Only the ones you afford yourself."_

"Shhh Jane," She whispers. "I'm here."

_"You will find, it will be more than enough."_

Maura holds Jane, until the grip around her shirt loosens and Jane's hand falls away, and she feels Jane grow heavier against her. Maura lets her head fall back against the kitchen island, focusing on the feeling of Jane, asleep in her arms, the sound of her breathing, slow and even, as they see out this night together.

And at 7:14am, as the first cracks of sunlight filter through the window of Jane's apartment, Maura allows herself her first breath of relief.

They had survived.

* * *

_Maura looks down, heart lurching unexpectedly._

_Of course she has woken to many others in the past – and with varying degrees of interest. But nothing that captivates her quite as much as this._

_During the night Maura had lowered Jane more completely so her head rested in her lap. It was equally more comfortable for both, and allowed her to offer Jane her jacket as a blanket to ward off any chills caused by excess fatigue._

_Jane has barely moved, save for the hand now resting beside her head – just above Maura's knees – curled slightly inward and relaxed in sleep._

_The morning sun falling across Jane's face gives her a visage of peace – of complete innocence. _

_She is dreaming._

_Maura feels overwhelmed, both at the sight and at the trust bestowed upon her to guard Jane in this way. _

_Equally, she fears the moment Jane wakes, there will need to be explanation. Justification. That the ease between them will be gone and replaced with awkwardness. Jane, so reticent to be seen vulnerable, will run- _

_Suddenly, Jane's hand twitches inward, her head tilts to the side and a long, deep breath is drawn in, then out of her nose. _

_Maura looks away, waiting…_

_"Maur-?" The question in Jane's voice pulls her back. Jane looks blearily up at her, blinking, "I'm-" she stops, eyes looking around as if she is trying to get her bearings. "Maur-?" _

_Maura feels the shift instantly, and realises… that Jane isn't running. _

_She is afraid… of exactly the same thing._

_Maura's own worry dissolves in the same instant. Emboldened, she lifts her hand, running the tips of her fingers across the creases in Jane's forehead. _

_"It's okay." She murmurs. "You had a bad night, that's all." She begins to remove the wisps of hair that had fallen over the side of Jane's face, placing them one by one behind her ear. "You just needed sleep. You still do." _

_Jane nods, closing her eyes. Maura knows it is only to retreat from the conversation, rather than an attempt to sleep again. _

_Knowingly, Maura drops her hand to the floor beside her leg, slapping it twice._

_"Although I would consider a change of mattress…"_

_It has the desired effect. Jane cracks open one eye, and a wry smile grows on her lips._

_"This coming from the woman who exercises in a Sauna…."_

* * *

"Ta daaa-"

Maura looks up, and can't help but smile at the sight of Jane, in her trademark pants, boots and button-down shirt, somewhat sheepishly towelling off her hair in the entrance to the living room. With a flourish, she holds out her arms and completes a full three-sixty rotation.

"Passable?"

Determined for a little fun, Maura tilts her head and narrows her eyes, making a show of great inspection.

"No less than usual." She says.

…and is already laughing by the time the towel completes its trajectory toward her head, tangling her in a mess of damp flannel.

By the time she has extracted herself, Jane has tied up her hair and moved to the small table beside the couch and is tentatively picking up her gun, face unreadable.

Maura stands.

"Jane," She coaxes softly. "We talked about this. You don't have to go in today."

"No I'm okay." Jane answers, turning the firearm over in her left hand, as if testing its weight and feel for the first time. "I was only thinking… About the timing of things, you know?" She slides it carefully into her utility belt, and reaches for her badge. "Me losing my cellphone, you being there at precisely that time…"

"Every moment that passes presents a series of possible outcomes." Maura answers, quietly. "Providing us with infinite possibilities of the future. There is actually a theory that all of those possibilities exist at the same time."

Jane laughs at the wall, then shakes her head. "Well all I'm saying is… in _this _universe, I'm just… Grateful."

Jane looks at her then, and Maura freezes.

Everything is gone – shutters, walls, fears, diversions and misdirection. The only thing left – eyes as soft as she has ever seen, and a genuine, quiet, unguarded smile.

And for the first time in her life, Maura feels…

She looks away, touching the tip of her pinky finger to the corner of her eye.

"We should really do something together that doesn't involve a crime scene." She says, instead.

But when Maura turns back she can tell, from the glint in Jane's eye, that she knows.

"I think that's a great idea." The detective says. "Oh!-" She adds suddenly, "-I nearly forgot-" Reaching into her pocket, Jane pulls out a small, metallic object and lays it flat in her outstretched palm. "Here."

Maura walks over, peering at the object.

It is a key.

Puzzled, Maura looks more closely at it. Jane pushes her hand out further. "Take it." She says. "For emergencies."

Emergencies? How would-

Maura looks up again, and in Jane's eyes is everything she needs to understand.

She nods_, _and takes it.

"Thank you."

Jane shoots her a lopsided grin. "Let's get out of here."

She unlocks the door, pushing it open and gesturing for Maura to go ahead of her. As she passes Jane, Maura's eyes immediately widen and she reaches for the door to hold it.

"Wait-" She says, glancing back over her shoulder to the kitchen island. "You forgot your-" Then turns back, only to find that smile… again.

The word dies on her lips.

"It's alright." Jane says, fingers flexing, free against the door. "I'm alright."

And with that, Jane follows Maura out of her apartment door… Out from the cover of night.

…And into-

* * *

End.

* * *

A/N: Okay... maybe three parts. Hope you all didn't mind :)

Somewhere in the middle of writing, I said I wanted to address the pieces from the series that made me want to write this. The more I thought about it, the more I realised it was really only one scene - season 1, episode 1.

I always found it intriguing that Maura handled Jane so confidently that night, when she came to visit. For someone unused to friendships, it showed a depth of understanding that surpassed their actual knowledge of each other. Being the first time Jane had been to Maura's house. Jane asking Maura if she ever had a best friend... yet they lie in bed together like it is the most natural thing. I wanted to pick that apart, turn it out and offer up a reason. Hence this.

I hope it worked :)

A/N 2: This fic is important to me, if for no other reason than to prove that I finish things I start... even if it takes a while :) It has been written over ups and downs, both personally and within the fandom, and I have many, many people I owe its completion to. For all over you who read, reviewed, followed and favourited - I can't thank you enough, I say it all the time, but I mean it. I write because I love it, but I think any writer would agree that having others along for the ride makes it all the more worthwhile. drisles, j-deering, ccecils - thank you for always reblogging :)

Luckypenguinbuddy - you pulled this thing across the line these last few weeks. Thank you for your kind words and for being so encouraging.

Z - what would I do without you in my life!? Love ya kid :)

Isababisa - thank you for always checking in on me :)

To my proof reader - thank you for always being someone I can trust with my pre-post material. I remain in awe of you , I learn from you all the time, and I'm thankful for you.

Lastly and most importantly, back when this was going to be just a one-shot thing (!?), two people showed the enthusiasm that gave it legs. Riley, thank you. And L - if you're still reading, thank you too. Without you both, it wouldn't have been written.

That's all from me :)

Now on to finish the next monster

Tx


	14. Epilogue

Under Cover of Night - Epilogue: Hold Back the Night

* * *

It was the worst possible outcome.

Of all the different permutations and combinations of events, of all the scenarios she envisaged… this is, by far, the worst one.

And this time, she is at war with herself, over what to do.

She dips the bottle slowly, allowing the Shiraz as much air as possible before it reaches her glass. The night called for something heavy. Big. Robust. Confident… like she wasn't confident.

The wine curls into her glass, with barely a sound.

She hasn't heard from her.

* * *

_"Jane." _

_The retreating figure of the detective stops, one shoulder slumped, and leans against the doorframe._

_Without turning around, she answers softly. "Maur, I know." _

_Maura is already moving towards her as Jane drops her head. Slowly, her hand finds Jane's shoulder and she slides it up and around the collar of her jacket, until she can feel the slight rise of Jane's clavicle on the other side._

_"Things are different now, Jane." Maura murmurs. "You're not alone in this."_

_Jane nods, almost imperceptibly. Maura feels the slight rise and fall of Jane's shoulders, hears the breath she takes to calm herself, and steps away in precisely the same moment as Jane turns around._

_Her eyes have darkened almost to the point Maura is unable to tell the difference between pupil and iris. _

_Reaching forward, Jane takes Maura's hand, sliding it along the length of her fingers and palm in a way that Maura's fingertips have no choice but to slide over her scar. The most deliberate of gestures. _

_Maura's breath hitches the instant she feels it. _

_The moment Jane covers Maura's hand with her other, Maura's eyes slide involuntarily closed as a warmth races out from their point of contact, up her arm and across her chest. She hadn't even realised how much she needed the comfort. Needed exactly __**that **__closeness. Reassurance._

_"I know." Jane says, holding Maura's hand wedged between hers. "I'm okay." She offers her a half-smile, as she speaks their history in three simple words. "I won't forget."_

* * *

Even as the wine pours, Maura glances at her phone for what would be the hundredth time in the last thirty minutes.

She hasn't heard from her…

…And Agent Dean is due any moment, but every fibre in Maura's body says she needs.. _needs _to be with Jane.

The sound of her doorbell ringing causes her to jump – causes her fingers to clench against the side of her kitchen island.

She looks back to her glass… the wine has spilled…

Maura watches a tiny rivulet slide off the stem of the glass, over the base, onto the marble.

The doorbell sounds a second time. Maura shakes her head, swipes at a tissue and tosses it over the spill. Replacing her cork, she slips the bottle beside her fridge and approaches the door, adjusting her blouse on the way.

Handsome or not, he wouldn't be staying long.

Her mind is somewhere else entirely when she reaches the door, and when she opens it, she puts her body completely in the doorway, so there is no hope of entering except-

It is utterly unexpected - The force of recognition sways her backward the tiniest fraction, and instantly, the heightened tension drains from her body, her heartbeat slows…

…a small smile touches her lips.

"Why do you always look like you're about to do a photoshoot?"

There are no better words she could imagine hearing.

* * *

"I've never been so scared in all my life…"

As Bass's thumping subsides, and the night pushes unrelentingly onward, Maura chews silently on her lower lip, trying to settle her fraying nerves. Despite her best efforts, even in the perfectly-lid bedroom, there is still a sense of trepidation and foreboding surrounding them both. Only the warmth of Jane's upper arm settled against her own provides any comfort.

Since the night in Jane's apartment, Maura has watched as Jane has, for the most part, worked her way through the nightmares that plagued her. But now, for Hoyt to be out there, looking to finish what he started…

A short, shallow breath pulls Maura's attention from her thoughts and she turns her head, carefully appraising the woman beside her.

Jane has stopped pushing on her palms – a nervous habit she has had since taking off her gloves – and is now flexing her fingers inward and outward, curling them into fists then splaying them as widely as she can. Her eyes are still trained on the ceiling, and Maura can tell by the short intervals of her blinks that she is not fixing her attention on any one place.

Which means, it is all going inward.

Reaching across her body, Maura touches Jane's bicep.

"Jane?" She says, softly, hoping to ease her away from the darkness her mind was drawn to. "You should try to sleep."

Inhaling deeply, Jane opens her eyes wide and releases the breath slowly through her nose.

"I know." She says, not looking away from the ceiling. "I just-" Her eyes flick down to her hands. "-I can feel them… You know?" Maura watches with concern as Jane's scrutiny grows, her breaths becoming soft hisses in and out from between her teeth. "I can feel them-" Her voice cracks, and she begins to shake her hands vigorously, eyebrows raising in distress. "-Ow… _God-_"

It takes Maura only a second to react, and she rolls to her side, reaching across to where Jane's left hand is, stilling them both.

"Jane, stop." She says, gently, rubbing backward and forward along Jane's forearm, "Just breathe-" Maura settles her hand over Jane's completely. "It's alright."

Jane's eyes flutter closed, and once again she draws a full breath in, releasing it this time through her lips.

"That's it." Maura coaxes, soothingly. "Again."

Jane repeats the exercise several more times, Maura encouraging her each time, until the tension in the detective's body recedes a fraction. Jane's face registers frustration, and anger, and she turns away just as Maura catches the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.

"I'm sorry…" Jane whispers, "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Maura allows her the space, propping herself up on her left elbow but not attempting to look beyond the angle Jane has afforded her.

"Jane." She keeps her voice calm, solid. "You know I would want you here, over anywhere else." Her fingertips trace a tiny path along Jane's forearm. "I was going to come to you."

A tiny scoff reaches Maura's ears, and she smiles.

"And miss Dean?"

"Yes, even Dean." She answers. "I thought you were him. I was already planning to leave."

Maura is emboldened by the tiny chuckle that comes from the opposite direction. Finally, it is followed by a sigh.

"I don't know what is wrong with me-" Jane murmurs. Slowly, she turns her head back, this time to look at Maura. Her eyes are red but no longer hold any excess moisture in them. "I haven't felt this in so long."

Maura presses her lips into a thin line, and nods, trying to keep any sadness from her expression. In all the she has known Jane, pity was never a thing she indulged, appreciated or trusted.

"I know." Maura lifts her hand from Jane's and begins to run her three middle fingers lightly over the back of it, keeping her pattern random. "It's perfectly normal to have a physical response to emotional trauma. Especially when they are so closely linked."

Jane's is silent, eyes solemnly searching Maura's for several seconds. "Even now?" She asks.

"Yes." Maura answers. "Especially now." Looking away for a moment in thought, Maura returns her attention to Jane with a small smile. "There are many examples of people who have been injured in traumatic events, who go through years of being pain free but when faced with the events again, immediately revert to the experience from long ago."

Seeming to contemplate Maura's words, Jane finally looks down at the space between them, and falls silent.

Maura continues her attention to Jane's hand, finding the action as soothing to her as it is intended to be for the detective. Each time the scar passes under her fingertips, Maura feels the closeness of their connection reinforced – that she is the first, and only one who has been permitted to touch it.

To touch them.

She can still feel the tension in Jane's body; the way she is holding herself still, the tiny indentation between her eyebrows.

"Still in pain?" She asks softly.

Jane nods, very slightly against the pillow. "Yeah."

Maura thinks for a few seconds, then lifts her head. "Let me try something?"

Slowly, one of Jane's eyebrows rises. "The last time you said that," She says, then looks up, eyes narrowing in mock-suspicion. "-I ended up twisting myself into a pretzel."

Maura chuckles and shakes her head, strangely feeling momentarily, but genuinely light. Only Jane seemed to have the ability to find humour in the darkest of places, and she wields it to great effect.

"The bound lotus is both centering and therapeutic." Maura chides good-naturedly. "-Besides, it calmed you down, did it not?"

"It redirected my anger." Jane retorts. "Because I was too busy turning my body into a piece of pastry."

She smiles then, and Maura laughs, moving her hand to give Jane's shoulder a gentle shove.

"No pastry _or _lotuses tonight. I promise."

The moment is an oasis amidst the chaos, and as soon as it passes Jane's smile fades almost immediately. She sighs.

"Maur-" She speaks Maura's name in a soft plea, and looks away again, pressing the tips of her fingers to her thumbs in succession. "-I don't think I can."

Maura covers Jane's hands with her own again, like it is the easiest of things to do.

"Hey-" She says, lifting herself higher off the bed, bringing her back into the detective's line of sight. Within Jane's eyes lies a vulnerability and fear, the depth of which makes Maura's breath catch and her heart beat faster. She returns – almost automatically – to her ministrations of minutes ago, fingertips shifting from one hand to another, then back again. "Trust me." She whispers.

Jane doesn't reply, but she holds Maura's gaze as she lowers herself back down onto the mattress, propping her head up on her hand. Maura smiles at the silent permission she has been given.

"Alright." Maura says. "Close your eyes."

"Maur-" Jane begins to protest, but Maura moves her free hand and touches it gently to the skin just below Jane's hairline. Slowly, she begins to move her thumb across Jane's eyebrows; feather-light, right to left.

"Close your eyes, Jane."

Silently, Jane obeys.

The moment she does her eyebrows knot together, and Maura's hand stills on her forehead.

"Hey." She whispers. "What do you see?"

Jane doesn't immediately answer, but when she does, it is broken and shaky.

"Him." She says. "Like always."

Maura closes her own eyes, allowing a moment to centre herself. She remembers the look of Jane, the night she had entered her apartment for the first time. She holds the image of the gun in her hand, lowering… and draws comfort in knowing that right now, it is far enough away, in a bag, resting on her kitchen island. Finally, she nods.

"Alright. I want you to hold that image."

Jane baulks away from her as soon as Maura says it, but she lifts her fingers into Jane's hair and carefully brushes it back off her temple. "Trust me." She whispers close to Jane's ear.

It takes time, until Jane gives several short nods.

On instinct, Maura lets her forehead rest against Jane's. "Get your breathing back, Jane. In, and out-" She gently instructs her, inhaling and exhaling evenly and slowly until Jane is brought into the same rhythm. With the tip of one finger Maura draws delicate circles on Jane's temple. "Where are you?"

"Somewhere… dark.. I think. I-" Jane pauses. "I can only see his face."

"Good." Maura keeps her voice even, her movements precise and consistent. Carefully, she lifts her head away. "Your subconscious hasn't constructed anything yet." She says. "It is relying only on your most emotive memory. Is he saying, or doing anything?"

Jane looks to be contemplating Maura's question.

"He is- asking me if I dream of him." Jane inhales abruptly and flinches, but Maura moves her hand immediately back to Jane's hair, combing it away from her temple.

"It's alright, it's only a memory." She says. "Now place it. Where were you when he asked if you dreamed of him?"

"The… prison. I went to visit him-"

Jane's brow furrows deeply, and Maura senses her breathing becoming more erratic once again.

"Breathe, Jane." Maura reminds her, gently, then waits until Jane has quieted a little, before continuing. "Picture the memory in its entirety." She says. "Can you see all of it now?"

The furrow in Jane's brow changes slowly, from worry to concentration, and finally, she nods.

"Alright, that's good." Maura says, tracing the lines on Jane's forehead until they begin to fade. "Now, hold the image…" she moves back to Jane's temple. "And turn away from him. Walk away. If he tries to call you back, ignore him. Keep walking."

Slowly circling, she repeats her final instruction, more carefully, more softly, as she slips her fingers through Jane's at her hip.

"Keep walking."

Nothing changes for several seconds, until, ever so slightly, Jane's right foot begins to tilt outward, coming to rest against Maura's ankle. Maura waits until enough time has passed to put adequate distance between Jane and her subconscious version of Charles Hoyt, then slowly lifts her hand.

"Where are you going now?" She whispers, watching her thumb as it traces a final path along Jane's hairline, before returning her hand to its place, behind her own head.

"I'm going… to see you…"

There is a calmness to Jane's voice, and an evenness to her breathing that hasn't been present until now. A warm smile works its way onto Maura's face.

"What are we going to do?" She asks.

"…the Redsox are playing tonight…" Jane's 's' and the 'x' are both drawn out, syllables blurring together.

Chuckling, Maura shifts her head on her hand, studying Jane's face as her head tilts further to the right with each breath.

"I don't know the rules of baseball."

"…you-w'll… I'llteashyou…"

It is a perfect copy of the beginning of their first conversation, all those months ago. And as the minutes slip by, and Jane finally succumbs to sleep, Maura gives in to compulsion and touches her lips to the detective's forehead.

"I'll let you sleep." She whispers, her breath skittering across the warmed skin.

Given everything they have been through, Maura indulges herself with a moment – barely a breath in time, where the pathway of their friendship stands above anything else… and above everything.

"Stay….Please…"

The whisper is only just audible, and is spoken from lidded eyes and barely-parted lips, but its grip on Maura's heart is firm and careful and so _sure.._. and yet again, she is reminded of that first encounter, that first night.

That first call.

She doesn't answer, only lowers herself down, covers Jane's hand with her own and squeezes it, gently.

"Goodnight, Jane." She whispers.

* * *

A/N: Had an opportunity to "rewrite a scene" as part of a fanfic challenge, and found myself unable to write anything but this - so, now UCON is really finished :)

T


End file.
